Problem Solving, the Booth and Brennan Way
by Hannah Taylor1
Summary: Brennan has a problem she's not sharing.Booth wants to help fix things,as always,only to find the conversation skewing in a direction he'd never expected. Set several months post-The Boy With the Answer.I'd really, really love some feedback on this one!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Brennan has a problem she's not sharing. Booth wants to helps fix things, as always, only to find the conversation skewing in a direction he'd never expected. This is set several months post-_The Boy With the Answer. _This will definitely be a multi-chapter story. I'd really, really love some feedback on this one! Pretty please? :)

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As far as their cases went, this one was unusual. According to the call Booth had received an hour ago, a skeleton had turned up in a field of horses, fused into the remains of a skateboard. That in itself was bizarre— Booth had a hard time envisioning_ how_ exactly a body could be totally melted into a piece of sports equipment so relatively small—but the fact that the deck was engraved with a holographic Vodka Quatari promo twisted things even further.

"Quatari's a brand new venture and Daze Hawthorne was shilling for them. Ever heard of him?" Booth waited for his partner to ask for more specifics, but Brennan merely stared out the window silently. "The guy declared on national TV a couple weeks ago that he was going to become the next Tony Hawk. You know, that's bound to piss off diehard fans who think he's a poser." Again, his partner failed to respond to his attempts at conversation.

All morning long she'd displayed no interest in discussing the particulars of the case prior to arrival at the scene. She'd been acting uncharacteristically moody and nervous, answering in monotone syllables to his comments when she even bothered to respond at all.

"All right. That's enough." Booth swerved into the emergency lane. Brennan jolted forward as he slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

Finally, he got a reaction.

"Booth, what are you doing?" she demanded, peeling herself from the dashboard. "We need to get to that field before all the remaining forensic evidence is trampled by horses."

"There's a vet rounding the animals up, and we probably can't get to the remains until after he's finished anyway. So we have some time." He turned in his seat to confront his aggravated partner. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I can't do that until I examine the body."

The woman could be so damn, _deliberately_ obtuse sometimes, it made Booth's brain steam.

"You know exactly what I meant, Bones. What's with the silent treatment you've been dishing out all day?"

He'd expected a half-dozen denials before finally getting an actual answer, but to his surprise Brennan cut to the chase.

"You're correct in surmising that I have a problem, Booth." She resumed her previous position, staring out the window. "Clearly, my non-verbal language was more overt than I intended it to be."

"So talk to me, Bones."

She continued to refuse to make eye contact. "I believe this is a problem that Angela would be more comfortable in advising me upon, Booth, she is presently out of town on her extended honeymoon and is not answering any of my emails or texts."

"Yeah …" He stifled a chuckle at the underlying irritation in her voice. "When people go on a honeymoon, they tend to forget cellphones and computers exist, Bones. Especially when the honeymoon involves backpacking the rainforests of Tahiti." In spite of himself, his pride was wounded. "C'mon, Bones. We're partners. Let me help."

Finally, she turned from the window and looked at him with that frank, penetrating gaze. "I appreciate your concern, Booth. However, given your discomfort in discussing sex, I believe you might want to rethink your offer."

Loud alarm bells went off in his head. He _really_ had no desire to hear about Bones' latest sexual conquest.

For once, she seemed to read his body language. She reached out and patted his leg awkwardly. "It's okay, Booth. I realize that, given our decision not to pursue a relationship, conversing about my sexual activities would be discomfiting."

_It was your decision not pursue a relationship, not mine!_ He bit back the words, knowing they would serve no purpose. Much as he did not want to have this conversation, he was in too deep to back out now. Plus, he really needed her back to old self before they started the Hawthorne case.

"Okay, Bones." He sighed and folded his arms, bracing himself. "Let's have it."

She regarded him curiously for a moment and he was certain she was going to argue, but she surprised him again.

"Have you ever experienced a lack of physiological response to a potential sexual partner even when the correct variables for stimuli were applied?"

He digested the question uncomfortably, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but in this SUV beside his very attractive partner. "You mean have I ever … ever uh … you know …" he gestured vaguely in the direction of his groin. "When I was with … did I …"

Thinking he hadn't understood the question, she thoughtfully rephrased it more clearly. "Have you ever failed to become aroused when confronted with an attractive potential mate who fulfills your criterion for sexual activity?"

_Only every time I'm with someone who isn't you._

He apparently didn't respond quickly enough, and Bones tried again, breaking the question into the simplest layman's terms she could think of. "Have you ever been unable to sustain an erection when you're with a beautiful woman?"

_Jesus!_

Booth loosened his collar and avoided the question. "So you're saying you're having problems … ah with … "

"Actually, no," Brennan informed him. "The problem isn't of a sexual nature."

Feeling like a bug trapped in an entomologist's spiderweb, Booth carefully felt his way forward. Why the hell was she glibly inquiring about the status of his hard-ons if the problem wasn't 'sexual in nature'?

"What exactly _is_ the problem, Bones?"

"It's not sexual in nature, because things haven't progressed sexually in quite somet ime."

He waited, trying not to squirm.

"I've been celibate for several months now, actually, even though I've been out with multiple men in that time period, all of whom, on the surface, seemed like promising sexual partners." She frowned. "Generally, one initiates a potential sexual relationship with a specific gesture. In the Taweru culture, for example, men offer their—"

His overtaxed brain frothed and boiled.

"Bones …" His voice was fainter than he would have liked. "Let's keep the anthropology lessons to a minimum just now, okay?"

"All right." She shrugged. "In our culture, a kiss is generally regarded as a precursor to sexual consummation. However, I find that I am not becoming as stimulated as I previously might have been when participating in such pre-coitus rites."

She concluded her summation of the problem cheerfully, almost as though merely talking about it was enough to take the weight off her shoulders. Booth, on the other hand, felt as though Atlas had suddenly decided to take a little vacation from holding up the Earth and dropped said globe directly on Booth's head before departing.

"So you kiss them and it doesn't do anything for you?"

"Exactly."

Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been welcome news. He didn't want her 'becoming stimulated' by any guy but him, dammit! Unfortunately, he had managed to slot himself directly into the unenviable position of having to commiserate with her problem.

"Maybe the guys just weren't right for you," he offered, aware of how lame the comment sounded.

"But they all fit the pattern of my previously successful sexual liaisons. For example, Charles was unusually well—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Booth held up a frantic hand. "TMI, Bones, TMI. Did you ever think that maybe you're just tired? You said yourself after the Grave Digger trial that you needed a break. Stress can do strange things to people."

"I considered that, yes," she replied thoughtfully. "It's a hypothesis. However, a hypothesis needs to be tested in order to be verified."

"I don't know what that means," he said bluntly, now feeling completely out of his depth.

"If stress is the true variable causing a breakdown in my libido, then I need to conduct an experiment in order to confirm the theory."

"In English, Bones," he pleaded, sneaking a glance at his watch. "We've really got to get to that field."

Maybe he could catch a ride on one of the horses and get the hell out of Dodge before his brain completed exploding.

Unaware of the turmoil in his mind, Bones continued, "I would need to take a vacation with a potential sexual partner and see if the lack of stress results in a return of my libido."

"Great. A vacation." He started the ignition and guided the car back onto the road. "Great idea, Bones. Somewhere nice and secluded, maybe some wine and a fireplace, old movies and a couch to watch them on together after coming in from skiing … That ought to fix things."

He hated that he was virtually offering up scenarios from inside his own head to the next available guy Brennan laid eyes on.

"But a control needs to be established."

Booth clutched the wheel unhappily, just knowing he was not going to like this. "Huh?"

"The man I am with would have to have a proven history of sexual compatibility with me, in order for the experiment to be valid."

Forget _like. _He absolutely, positively, unequivocally _hated_ this conversation. "So go call up one of your old flames who still leaves nearby. I'm sure they'll be glad to help out."

"However, as the problem has arisen with men I have yet to sleep with, it logically follows that a successful experiment can only result from a vacation with a man with whom I have yet to—"

"Bones!" He exploded in frustration, trying to keep from swerving into the next lane. "You've really lost me, okay? And you were right. Angela would have been a better person—a _way _better person—to ask about this stuff. Why don't you just wait a few more weeks till she gets back in town? Then you can discuss things and figure it out, you know," he waved helplessly, trying to come up with an unoffensive phrase, "The girl way."

"Actually, you've proven surprisingly helpful, Booth."

"I have?" he ventured in surprise.

"Yes." She sounded decidedly more like her usual rational self. "I merely need to locate a man I have proven potential sexual compatibility with, yet with whom I have not consummated a sexual relationship. I should then remove myself and this individual to a non-stressful location, allow for several days to allow for an adjustment to the new environment, then initiate a pre-coitus rite and see if my libido returns."

"Glad I could help, Bones," he muttered. "Really."

First Sully, then Jarred and Hacker. And now he'd guided her straight into the arms of yet another lucky guy who would get to experience what was forbidden to him.

"There's only one small problem."

He resisted the urge to jump out of the moving vehicle.

"What's that?"

"I am selective about my sexual partners, Booth. Thus, when I do find a man with whom I am sexually compatible, we generally consummate our relationship relatively quickly."

If she mentioned sexual compatibility one more time, he was going to well and truly lose it.

"You're saying there aren't all that many guys you've dated that you haven't slept with."

"Generally speaking, though I'm careful about whom I initiate a relationship with, yes, once I'm in a romantic relationship, whatever its nature, sex naturally follows."

Booth rolled his shoulders tensely. "Don't know what to tell you here, Bones. Like I said, wait for Angela. She'll be able to come up with something."

"I have already devised the solution to the problem."


	2. Requesting a favor

A/N: Don't hate me for this one! Brennan may have made definite progress sensitivity-wise over the last five seasons, but she still screws up sometimes, as she did in the 100th episode. I mean, that line where she asks if they can still work together, after what she's just done to him? That's pretty selfish, (albeit naively, unintentionally selfish) wouldn't you say? She really doesn't mean to hurt people, but sometimes her genius brain just doesn't _get it_. As for Booth, well, Booth's a human being. However much he loves Brennan, even he can occasionally reach a breaking point.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth refused to take the bait on this one. If she wanted to tell him her solution, she could just go right ahead without him asking. And she didn't, not as they arrived at the field and she went into squint-mode, assessing the truly gruesome corpse before them, and not as they drove back to the lab at top speed, needing to beat the pack of reporters competing to break the story about Daze's supposed death. It wasn't until late that evening that Brennan decided to broach the subject again.

A knock on his door surprised him. He glanced up from piles of paperwork to find his partner hovering in the doorway uncertainly. Wearing a loose green blouse paired with a jade pendant, khaki slacks and knee-high boots, the always-attractive scientist looked even more mouthwateringly soft and feminine than usual.

"May I speak with you, Booth?" She didn't frequently visit his office uninvited.

The request itself was bizarre. It almost turned the clock back to their first awkward months as partners, where neither was quite sure how to respond to the other's personal eccentricities.

"Sure, anytime. You know that." Booth stood and waved at a seat. "Come on in."

She entered the room, but remained standing. "I have a favor to request."

"Request away." He deliberately injected a light note into his tone, hoping to dissolve some of the tension suddenly hovering between them.

"As I mentioned earlier today, I have devised a solution to the problem of my flagging sexual arousal."

_Oh God, not again_.

Booth sank into the chair he'd been offering her moments earlier. He dropped his head in his hands, hoping she'd uncharacteristically take a hint. She didn't.

"However, my solution requires your assistance, Booth."

He looked up in surprise. "My assistance?"

"Yes." She seated herself in front of him, clasping the arms of her chair tightly. "Booth, you and I have had unresolved sexual tension between us for quite some time."

_Oh, she is not going there … tell me she's not going there, please …_

"However," she continued, "We have agreed not to pursue a sexual relationship due to the nature of our partnership and my inability to give as much of myself as you do."

Brennan paused, apparently waiting for him to say something, but Booth's vocal chords had declared a temporary strike the minute she mentioned the conversation they'd had in front of Sweets' office. The conversation where she'd killed any lingering hope he'd had for an eventual relationship with her outside of work.

"Would you concur, Booth, that there is no denying that a certain tension remains between us, in spite of our agreement?"

He couldn't help it. Bitterness poured out into his words. "It was never 'our' agreement, Temperance. I went along with it because I couldn't see another way to continue working beside you unless I accepted your terms."

She didn't contest his words. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Booth. I hope you know that was never my intention."

Her eyes flickered with concern and, in spite of the lead stone in the pit of his stomach, Booth knew she was sincere.

"I know," he answered gruffly. "Doesn't make it any easier to deal with somedays, though. My feelings haven't changed, Bones."

She nodded. "That is why I believe you could provide the solution for my dilemma."

He sat back in the chair heavily, rocked to the core by what she was implying.

"Are you suggesting—"

"We have an unconsummated relationship with evident sexual tension between us. We could establish rules before beginning, to ensure that the experiment is confined to the duration of the vacation and, thus, does not affect our working relationship. You would prove an ideal candidate for the experiment and, it is highly probably that we would both be satisfied by the encounter. "

Booth jumped to his feet, unable to sit still a moment longer. "Jesus, Bones! You can't—you can't be seriously asking me to be your sexual guinea pig!" He turned to her, pleading. "Tell me I'm misunderstanding something here."

"That is a very crude way of describing my intentions, Booth."

"Crude?" he echoed in disbelief. "I've known you a long time, Bones, and you can definitely be unintentionally insensitive, but, _Jesus,_ I've never known you to experiment on human beings!"

"You're angry. This was a mistake."

"No kidding," Booth muttered, snagging his coat from its hook behind the door. "I need some space, Bones. Do me a favor and don't follow me, okay? Just lock the door when you leave."

She stood, twisting her hands in dismay. "This is your office, Booth. I'm the one who should depart."

"I've gotta get out here before I say something I really regret." He was aware of how much she was hurting, but, dammit, so was he! "We can talk about this tomorrow, when I've had a chance to calm down. Good night, Bones."

He left her standing in the center of his office, staring after him.


	3. Tell Him!

"_You did __**what**__?"_

Even across the phone line, from thousands of miles away, Angela's voice registered distress.

"_Oh, my God, sweetie, hold on a second." _In the background, Brennan could hear her best friend conversing urgently with her husband. _"Jack, give me a couple minutes, okay? Brennan's got some stuff going on that we really need to sort out. I'll meet you in the bar. Okay, Bren. God, I'm glad you caught me! This giant bug bit Jack in the rainforest. Of course, he was more interested in whether it was some kind of new species, since he couldn't identify it, but when he started getting this purple and yellow rash I made him call a helicopter to evacuate us. We're in this rinky-dink little hotel and—never mind. Okay. Tell me again what happened. It can't be as bad as you made it sound."_

Apparently, it was. After Brennan had finished repeating her version of events, the line was dead silent for a long time, so long that she finally asked,

"Angela?"

"_I'm still here. Just thinking. Oh, God, Bren. I just can't believe—I mean—look at it from Booth's perspective. The guy has been crazy in love with you since, like the beginning of time. He told you that and you turned him down, and he __**still **__chose to keep working with you. And then, you know how weird he is about sexual stuff and how much of a premium he places on keeping sex within the bounds of a committed relationship. So when you asked him to basically be your booty call for a couple weeks, just to help you get your mojo back, it's understandable how he reacted. Right?"_

"It was a mistake," Brennan admitted. "I should have considered the situation much more carefully before approaching him. I understand why he's upset. But I don't know how to make amends, Angela. I've never seen him so angry at me."

A loud beep interrupted the conversation.

"_Shit. There's some sort of a time limit on this screwy international cellphone for some reason—listen, Bren, you've got to tell him how you feel about him. It's the only way you're going to fix things. I don't have time to argue with you about how you don't love him—you do. Really. If you just—"_

Loud static filled the line.

"Ange? Hello?"

Brennan hung up the phone slowly, feeling very alone suddenly.


	4. Letter to Booth

**A/N: Warning—this could be construed as an "M" rated chapter because of Brennan's comments in the letter. I'd say it's pretty minor stuff, but you can never be too careful.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The letter under the door caught Booth's attention as soon as he walked into the kitchen on Saturday morning. Yawning, he retrieved the envelope and slit it open. The sight of Brennan's familiar handwriting acted like a jolt of caffeine. He sat down without bothering to start a pot of coffee and began to read.

_Dear Booth,_

_I've chosen to write this letter to you, rather than confronting you directly about the situation, due to my comfort level with the written word. I'm much more eloquent on paper than I am orally. Had I written you a letter earlier about the favor, perhaps I would have expressed myself better, thus avoiding the scenario we now find ourselves in._

_You said we'd speak the day after I came to your office, and yet you've been avoiding my calls all week. I'm concerned about the ramifications of my actions upon our partnership. Furthermore, I wish to express my apologies for my lack of sensitivity. I was aware of your feelings for me, and yet, I did not consider that asking you for such a favor was the equivalent of disregarding your beliefs about committed sexual relationships. In my own experience, I've had many satisfactory relationships that retained a sexual basis as their sole foundation, however, I know this is contrary to your personal ideals._

_After analyzing the behavioral pattern that led me to your office on Monday night, I realized that I chose you as my experimental candidate for more than one reason. I feel safe around you, Booth. You accept me, as Angela would say, 'warts and all.' (Personally, I see no direct correlation between verruca vulgaris and social ineptitude.) Because of this elevated comfort level, I occasionally take our relationship for granted._

_Please don't take this to mean that I do not value our relationship. I do, on a variety of levels. That is part of why I have been so reluctant to move beyond a platonic relationship with you. There are relatively few individuals in my life that I can rely upon in the manner I do with you. Working with you has been a distinct privilege and I hope that my actions have not irreparably damaged our partnership or friendship, if you still consider me a friend._

_I also sought you out as a candidate because I believed we would both enjoy the sexual experience. You've repeatedly mentioned that you find me physically attractive, and your image plays a regular role in my fantasies when I am self-manipulating, even when I have to fill in some of the details on speculation. I will confess that, through this experiment, I had somewhat hoped to find out whether my conjecture of those details has been accurate or not._

_I have one final admission prior to closing this letter. Another reason I asked you to join me on the experimental vacation was because in your presence I find myself experiencing the same physical sensations that are recently lacking in my relationships with other men. To put that in what you would call plain English: I am confused as to why kissing potential sexual partners suddenly fails to arouse me, when merely being near you, and not even physically touching, is extremely stimulating. I was hoping that time spent with you interacting physically would help answer that question._

_Again, I'm sorry for my actions earlier in the week. I hope that we can eventually repair our partnership and move forward with our work together. I have made good progress on the Hawthorne case and will be sending a letter by carrier containing details pertinent to the investigation._

_~Temperance Brennan_


	5. His reply

**A/N: One more chapter after this one, and then I'm calling it quits for tonight. C'mon, folks. Hit that review button and give me the juice to keep going tomorrow! :0D**

**As for how Brennan takes her coffee—I really have no idea, so that's a guess …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth winced internally at Brennan's appearance she answered his loud pounding on the door. She was wearing a faded bathrobe and had large bags under her eyes, suggesting a pronounced lack of sleep recently.

Booth held up a paper bag as a greeting. "Nico's coffee, fresh from the bean. Blueberry pie for me, croissant hot out of the oven, with organic honey, for you. Can I come in?"

She waved him into the apartment silently, clutching the bathrobe around herself in a parody of self-defense. Booth sighed and set his peace offering down on the counter before turning toward her.

"All right, let's get this out of the way before we eat. Number one: Yeah, Bones, I was upset. But that doesn't mean I'm going to call off our partnership or friendship. It's never going to be over between us, Bones. Not on my end, anyway." He nudged her chin up gently, feeling his gut twist at the fatigue and sadness written all over her face. Even after all their years as partners, she still feared abandonment. "I told you once before and I'll tell you again—I'm that guy, Bones. I knew as soon as I walked into that university hall that you were the one for me. Those feelings have only grown stronger over the years, and they're not about to change."

Switching tactics quickly, so as not to scare her away, he continued down his list of items to discuss.

"Number two: Jeez, Bones! Give a guy a chance to get some coffee before you start inviting him into your sexual fantasies!" He grinned to reassure her, even though reading about her 'self-manipulation' had momentarily clouded the entire world with a lustful red haze, especially when he realized he was figuring as prominently in her fantasies as she was in his. That, plus the awareness that she was filling in parts of his anatomy 'on speculation,' made his senses sing.

"I'm teasing," he added, just in case. "Number three: I know you said that last part was plain English, but it sounded Greek to me. I need a translation, Bones." He tugged the letter from his pocket and indicated the highlighted section.

She reread her own words to herself.

_I am confused as to why kissing potential sexual partners suddenly fails to arouse me, when merely being near you, and not even physically touching, is extremely stimulating. I was hoping that time spent with you interacting physically would help answer that question._

"I'm not sure how to be much clearer, Booth. Recently, kissing no longer arouses me. Yet, merely being near you has a marked physical effect upon me. Such a reaction seems irrational."

The red haze came flooding back again, causing a strong 'physical effect' in Booth. He had understood her written words perfectly, but needed to hear them from her own lips.

"Like now, Bones?" he asked huskily, dropping all pretense. "Are you reacting physically this very minute?"

"Yes." She stared up at him wide-eyed.

It was all he could do to keep from acting on the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her into understanding the depth of both their feelings. Instead, he stepped away and busied his hands with spreading out the breakfast he had brought. As he plated his pie and handed her the cup of coffee, 2 sugars, no cream, exactly as she liked it, he casually commented,

"You know, Bones, I have an idea of how we can complete your 'sexual experiment,' while still respecting my own beliefs."


	6. Decision

**A/N: That's it for tonight. Please, please, please, hit that review button and give me a happy surprise to wake up to in the morning! :)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She paused in mid-sip, eyebrows comically raised. Booth continued serving up their breakfast on the supplied paper plates, pretending to be relaxed when his entire body was humming.

"Your croissant, voila." He slid the plate in front of her and took a seat across the table, taking a bite of his pie and chewing happily.

Brennan watched him, her own meal untouched. Finally, Booth took pity on her.

"Okay, Bones, look. You want to get your mojo back. And I want to prove to you that there's life for us outside the office. I'll do your favor on one condition." He took another bite of pie. "Eat, already."

Her blue eyes tracked his every move, from fork to plate to mouth and back again.

He wasn't deliberately torturing her—not entirely, anyway. It was just hard to know how to say words he'd been holding onto for such a long time. Finally, he just said them, and wondered later what had held him back for so long.

"I want to date you, Bones. Six weeks, my rules, my style. And at the end of those six weeks, I'll give you exactly what you requested—a vacation and enough sex to prove to you that there's nothing wrong with your 'libido.' What do you say?"

"What are your rules?" she asked cautiously.

"**One:** We go where I want, when I want, and you cooperate, no matter how strange it might seem. Obviously, if you want to go somewhere special, that's fine. But I've got final say. **Two:** There's no kissing or hot and heavy stuff until after the third week. **Three:** At the end of the six weeks, you still get your favor no matter what, but first we sit down and seriously evaluate a future relationship beyond our work partnership. That's it," Booth said simply.

"I don't understand why we have to wait until the third week before becoming even marginally physically intimate," she argued. "If we're both agreed that we're physically attracted to each other, then why wait?"

He snagged a piece of her croissant and winked when she swatted at him with her fork. "Because I'm trying to prove to you that sex is a lot better when it's framed by a real relationship."

"Postponing sexual gratification is an antiquated Puritan notion predicated on the once highly-valued premium which early societies placed upon a woman's virginity."

Booth stifled a grin, even though his heart was pounding. Her aggravated, pursed lips were so endearingly petulant that it was hard not to reach across and drop a kiss on them.

"Those are the rules, Bones. Take 'em or leave 'em."

She finally took a bite of her pastry and chewed slowly before speaking. "All right, Booth. I accept your proposition."

He cursed the rules immediately, as they held him back from hauling her into his arms and kissing her in sweet, elated relief. He settled for raising his coffee cup instead.

"To six weeks of us and all the possibilities this is opening."

"To the experiment and sexual fulfillment after six pointless weeks," Brennan retorted instantly.

"Nice to know you're so convinced I'll be sexually fulfilling," Booth grinned. "Seems like a lot of eggs to be putting in one basket, Bones. Where's your evidence?"

Her response turned the tips of his ears red and made him almost spill his coffee.


	7. And cue panic!

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Bear with me here. ****Bones goes off into a rant that might as well be Russian, which is pretty much how fluently she speaks 'emotionalese.' So I'd suggest that you don't look for any logic in her speech and skim over it quickly, rather than trying to actually extract meaning from her presently befuddled brain. Half of it, **_**I**_ **didn't get! :D Thanks to all who have read, PMed, emailed or otherwise commented, particularly the supremely-talented Skole! **

He'd gone back to his place, ostensibly to allow her time and space to get some work done before their first date later that evening. Sitting at home alone, Booth watched a Steeler's game with an eye on the clock, anticipating his partner's next move. Sure enough, several hours before he'd promised to pick her up, she arrived on his doorstep in full-blown Brennan panic-mode, meaning she was cold, distant and spouting a river of squintese nonsense, all while obviously trying very hard to get her errant, vulnerable heart back under lock and key.

"Booth, I've reconsidered our discussion from earlier today. There are flaws that I somehow failed to take into account, such as what effect an unsuccessful experiment would have on our working relationship. For example, if we prove not to be successfully sexually compatible as I have conjectured we will be, this could prove very damaging to your male ego and might even have repercussions upon your own libido and relationships. You would then, possibly, attempt to enact your own experiment in order to resolve the problem, and this could result in even further deterioration of things. Furthermore, if I discover at the experiment's end that my own problem has not achieved a resolution, I might irrationally blame you for allowing me to undertake such a potentially hazardous gambit. And, if we did undertake your proposed six weeks of dating, you would then undoubtedly discover exactly why I am not an appropriate partner for you outside the workplace, and this, while potentially having a positive outcome in that it would ultimately arrest your feelings for me and allow you to move forward with a more suitable romantic companion, would admittedly be quite painful for me." She paused to draw a breath and glared daggers at Booth, who was propped comfortably against the kitchen counter, listening patiently.

In contrast to the buttoned-up, furiously rational scientific figure Brennan was attempting to present, her hair was adorably disheveled, likely from the four-minute mile her brain had undoubtedly run from her place to his. The loose, wavy tendrils framing her pallid face all but screamed _run your fingers through me._

"Well?" she demanded. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"I didn't understand much of that," Booth admitted. "What I did get was somewhere along the lines of, _I'm scared. What if this doesn't work? Worse yet, what if it does? _That, plus, _what if you find out something about me that drives you away?" _He watched his partner carefully for a reaction, feeling a wash of tenderness at how damn soft and _real_ the woman was, underneath all the Super-Scientific-Genius-Everything's-Under-Control-and-On-A-Silver-Plate façade. "Is that anywhere close to what you were trying to communicate, Bones?" he prodded.

When she remained stock still, staring at him mutely with a blatant appeal on her face, he sighed and continued,

"Bones, I get that you're scared. It's okay. If this doesn't work, I promise we'll still have both our friendship and our working relationship."

"How can you be so sure of that?" she exclaimed in agitation.

"You rejected me once before, Bones," he reminded her, wincing at the memory. "I didn't run away. And our partnership seemed to weather that hit pretty well." The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. "But you're afraid of things going the other way, aren't you."

He moved towards her slowly, so as not to send her running for the hills. "You're wondering, what if he suddenly discovers stuff he doesn't like about me. Will he leave?" Reaching her side, he slid an arm around her waist. She melted into him without so much as a trace of resistance and he folded her against his chest, praying for strength to resist the temptation suddenly filling every corner of his senses.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones," he whispered into her glorious, softly perfumed hair. "No matter what happens, wherever this thing between us ends, I'm still your partner. Your friend. Whatever it is you need me to be."

She looked up at him with anguish written in calligraphy all over her face. "But, Booth, this could change everything!"

"Yes, it could," he acknowledged, tenderly smoothing back several auburn flyaways. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, Bones. It's an experiment. Sometimes they fail. Sometimes they succeed. I promise though, we're not going to blow up any buildings. Or human beings."

"That's non sequitur," she complained.

He felt her body relax very slightly and swallowed a sigh of relief. _If she'd bolted this time …_ he shuddered internally. "It's no more non sequitur than your skewed logic." At the surprised look on her face, he chuckled. "Altar boy, Bones, remember? Latin was part of the course description."

He dropped a chaste kiss on her temple and released her reluctantly. He wanted _so _much more than a guy hug at the moment, it was kind of terrifying to think of the effect she had on him and how he was going to keep from succumbing to it for at least three weeks. "Come on. Our first date awaits."

Doubt continued to mar her lovely features. "I don't know, Booth—"

"I do."

She eyed him uncertainly.

"Trust me, Bones," he urged. "This is nowhere near as dangerous as letting me throw daggers at a tiny rubber nose while pretending to be drunk and Russian."

"The nose wasn't tiny," she protested.

"It is when you're aiming at your partner's face with a very sharp knife." He snagged her hand and tucked her fingers firmly beneath his. "Okay, I'll tell you what. Let's make this a test date. If it really goes that terribly, we'll call it quits. Deal?"

Still, she hesitated. "Why do I feel like you're gambling again, Booth?"

"Life's one big crapshoot, Bones." He shrugged. "The way I see it, this thing between us is about the surest bet I've ever made. Remember how much you liked playing craps?" he teased.

"Yes! The entire game is mathematically based, although I failed to understand why people were so upset when …"

As she rambled on excitedly, fully caught up in her memories of the undercover sting, Booth guided her surreptitiously out the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when they made it all the way to the ground level and she was still chattering about Roxie's propensity for winning.


	8. Everything all at once, forever

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Are all our dates going to be this far away?" Bones glanced at the setting sun. "We've been driving for almost three hours."

Booth stifled the urge to point out that there might not _be _any other dates unless she gave the go ahead at the end of this one.

"Don't worry," he assured the workaholic beside him, who was clearly wondering about when she could get back to her lab already, "The next few dates will be closer to home. This is just special since it's our first, Bones. I called in a favor to an old friend and he just happens to live far away."

"I didn't pack a bag, Booth, and it seems that we will need to spend the night somewhere."

"Relax, Bones. It's all taken care of." He reached over and squeezed her hand. In spite of her possibly being the most self-sufficient person Booth had ever encountered, the oddest things could throw her for a loop. It was a trait he found innately endearing. "Here we are."

He turned the car onto a dusty dirt road.

"Where are we going?" She craned her neck into the growing darkness. "There's nothing here."

"As I recall from our days as Buck and Wanda, you have no fear of heights, right, Bones?"

"None whatsoever," she said in surprise. "Why?"

"No particular reason."

Several large potholes later and a couple of deer narrowly skirted, he pulled the SUV into a small, makeshift parking lot. They made their way from the car into the cool darkness, holding hands and carefully picking their steps.

"Booth," she insisted repeatedly, like an impatient child, "Where are we _going?_"

"There." He pointed a finger at the ghostly white silhouette of a small plane about 500 yards away. Before she could fire a volley of questions, a booming voice broke through the stillness of the night.

"Booth!" An older man about Booth's height and dressed in fatigues that blended remarkably well with the night materialized at their side. "About time you got here!"

The FBI Agent grinned widely. "Bones, this is Staff Sergeant Michaels," he explained after a sufficiently manly display of back thumping, "The guy who whipped my ass into shape back in my Army Ranger days."

"Kid looks good now," scoffed the Staff Sergeant. "You should've seen him then. Scrawny little 140 pound thing. Couldn't even bench press his own weight. And as for running—after the first couple miles, I thought he was about to keel over and drop dad."

Booth smiled sheepishly. "Thanks for the reminder, Sarge. My back is still out of whack thanks to your obstacle courses. This is my partner, by the way. Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"You weren't kidding when you said she was pretty," Michaels drawled, wringing Brennan's hand with a remarkably strong grip for an apparent septuagenarian. "Looks just like the back of her books."

"You've read my books?" Clearly, he didn't fit the stereotypical picture Brennan held of her average reader.

"Every last one of them." He winked. "Page 187 is a patented Michaels move at this point."

Booth winced. He _so _did not need that visual.

"What is it with everybody and page 187?" Brennan complained. "You'd think the rest of my writing had entirely been eclipsed by—"

"So, y'all ready? Moon's about to rise," the Staff Sergeant interrupted. "That's when it's best, you know."

"Ready for what, exactly?" Brennan inquired.

Michaels frowned and glanced at Booth. "You haven't told her yet?"

Booth motioned the instructor away. "I've got this. Go get her ready."

"Your call, Booth, but I hope you know what you're doing…if she wigs out up there, I ain't to blame." Michaels stalked away.

"Okay, Booth." Brennan swiveled towards him, hands on her hips. "_Now _will you tell me what we're doing on this date?"

He caught her hand again and pulled her close, so he could see into her face in spite of the darkness. "Here's the thing, Bones. You've got a definite fear of flying."

Distinctly affronted, Brennan shook herself loose from his grip. Beautiful as she looked with her hair blowing in the wind and her eyes flashing in annoyance, she was clearly preparing to let loose on him with both guns blazing. Booth hurried to cut off her impending tirade.

"It's a metaphor, Bones," he explained. "You have a fear of flying, because you're afraid of falling."

The roar of Michaels' plane shuddered through the night, forcing Booth to shout to be heard above the engine.

"These dates are going to be kind of like flying and falling for us, Bones. I thought we could both use a little practice in that department." Once again, he took her hands in his. "So tonight's about doing both. With me. Are you in, Bones?"

"In where? In there?" She pointed at the plane. "I've flown in small planes before, Booth."

There went the scientist in her again, being deliberately, stubbornly obtuse. Given her genius IQ and the rather obvious plane humming in the background, he was positive she knew exactly what he meant.

"Dammit, Bones! Do you, or do you not, want to go skydiving?"

"Hell, yes!" The delighted smile that split her face turned Booth's insides to jello. All she'd been waiting for was for him to come out and say it. And she liked the idea! Not only _liked_; she seemed genuinely excited at the idea of throwing herself out of a plane with him. Talk about trust.

Booth wanted to kiss her. Good God, he wanted to pull the woman into his arms and kiss her until neither of them had any air left. He settled for catching her by the waist and spinning her in a wide circle instead, absorbing her throaty, astonished laughter into his very soul.

_I love you, I love you, I love you, Bones Brennan. One of these days when I'm sure you won't run away screaming, I'm going to tell you how much I love you …._

"Any day now, lovebirds!" Michaels bellowed from the cockpit impatiently.

They clambered aboard the Cessna and Booth had barely helped her into the bright orange jumpsuit and safety harness before Michaels took off at a steep incline.

"We're going tandem," he explained, adjusting the fit of her goggles and helmet. "Do you know what that means?"

She shook her head, wide-eyed. "I presume it involves something done in tandem—together."

"That's right. We're jumping strapped together, Bones. Kind of like this whole dating thing. Okay?"

"Okay." More giddy grinning, sparking a hot trail of desire through Booth's veins.

_The woman was sexy every minute of every day, but never more so than at this very instant._

"Usually there's some training involved, but I'm a certified instructor, so we kind of skipped that part. I've got over 500 jumps under my belt."

Brennan turned in her seat and rested her goggles against his. "I know you'll take care of me, Booth."

Her words sent his insides into a tailspin that had nothing to do with the light turbulence the plane was encountering. They sat holding hands, alternating between staring out the window and staring at each other until Michaels called back,

"12,500 feet!"

Booth helped a beaming Brennan to her feet. He expected to see fear—this was the point where most novices panicked, and they'd had usually had at least half a day of training. Instead, all he saw beneath the dark goggles was excitement.

He carefully double-checked both their equipment and led her to the rear of the plane, where he hooked them together using twin side and shoulder hookups on their harnesses. Again, he checked the fastenings and then they shuffled together toward the door, waiting for Michaels' cue.

Strapped behind her, Booth explained into her ear, "You don't need to do anything at all, unless there's a problem. The main canopy will deploy automatically at 2,000 feet if I don't open the parachute for some reason. However, if that parachute fails for some reason—which is extremely rare, by the way—you pull this cord right here." He guided her hands to the failsafe. "And this is a second backup over here. Got it?"

She nodded eagerly.

"The wind is going to hit you pretty hard when this door opens, Bones, so be ready for it. We're going to do a somersault when we first jump out, and you'll feel a jolt when the drogue chute opens almost immediately after, balancing us both into freefall position. After that, it's smooth sailing and enjoy the ride until 2000 feet, when that canopy I mentioned earlier opens. It'll drag us both back up for a moment, and then we'll have a couple more minutes before gliding into land."

"13,000!"

The door opened before them and Brennan gasped as the wind slapped her in the face.

He squeezed her waist reassuringly. "Ready, Bones?"

"Yes."

"All you gotta do is take two steps forward."

It could have been a metaphor for their new relationship.

With almost no hesitation, she stepped forward.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Oh m---wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Brennan's shriek drifted back towards him as they somersaulted from the plane.

Cold wind belted them in the face, numbing their eyes and lips, scorching their lungs momentarily. No matter how many times he had jumped, Booth never got over that initial thrilling sensation of falling forward freely, before the drogue chute opened above them. It was more addictive than any craps game he'd ever played or beer he'd ever tasted. But even the thrill of being completely unencumbered paled in comparison to Brennan's ecstatic cries. There was absolutely no fear in her voice.

"Oh my God, Booth! _This is amazing!"_

"Spread your arms, Bones," he coached. "And keep your eyes wide open. You don't want to miss a thing."

Night dives were a special thing. Few instructors offered them, but Booth had quickly learned that the sensation of tumbling through a darkened sky, with only the faint silhouette of Earth approaching, was doubly intoxicating.

"It's so beautiful!" She devolved into incoherent, excited babbling as they dipped and swayed in the evening breeze. "The stars, Booth! And the moon! Look at the moon!"

A full moon lingered over the cusp of a faraway hill, glowing pale blue in the darkness.

"I see it, Bones," he grinned.

Drifting through an unexpected small cloud sent her into a rapturous fit. For once, the scientist's prolific vocabulary was severely curtailed by excitement.

"Ooooh--cold!" she gasped. "Amazing! Booth, this is _fantastic!"_

As they glided downwards, she continued to cry out in amazement at every little thing. Stone walls, glowing white in moonlit fields. The ghostly outlines of trees. Barns, slowly growing larger as Earth got closer. More clouds. A runaway, slowly deflating red balloon, drifting several yards to their left. The usually reserved scientist missed nothing, appreciated everything, sharing her exuberance with soft little shouts and excited squeals and squeaks. When Booth's eyes misted over, he couldn't bring himself to blame it on the wind. She just sounded so damn _happy_. Like for once everything in her world was exactly right, and he'd played a part in it.

The main chute jolted open above them, dragging them back up momentarily before beginning to ease them down the last few thousand feet. Brennan called in dismay,

"I don't want it to end, Booth!"

"I'll take you up again," he promised. "Maybe during the day."

"But I like the night …" Brennan's voice sighed contentedly.

They glided the remainder of the dive in relative silence, coming in for a soft standing landing in a meadow.

"Oh, Booth." She twisted her head to look at him. "I—that was—"

He unhooked them and turned her in his arms. "So you liked it?"

She shoved back the goggles and stared at him, beautiful eyes glittering. "Booth, that was _everything_," she whispered. "I don't even know what that means, exactly, but it was. Absolutely everything. The moon, stars and the whole sky, wrapped up in an orange jumpsuit and a green harness."

Generally, his partner didn't wax poetic anywhere but on paper. His eyes fogged up again and he swiped at them impatiently. Booth took her cold face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers.

"_You're _everything, Bones," he said simply. "Everything all at once, forever."

Her voice was breathless. "I don't know what that means."

"It means I'd really like to kiss you senseless," he growled. "It would kind of be a perfect moment." He couldn't completely explain to himself the need to make them wait, but it was a strong gut feeling and he went with it. "But I'm going to wait anyway, Bones. Sorry."

Tellingly, she didn't argue for a change. They walked back toward the SUV hand in hand, both aware that something had profoundly shifted in their relationship.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan fell asleep on the ride to their hotel and didn't move an inch when Booth carefully lifted her from the seat. She felt so right in his arms, as she had free-falling through space with him, that he was hard-pressed to keep from standing there the whole damn night with her cradled against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, snoring peacefully.

Eventually his back demanded surcease from the evening's rough treatment and he was forced to carry her into their room and settle her under the sheets. He had fully intended to use the other bed and was retreating when Brennan's hand shot out from under the covers unexpectedly and caught him.

"Stay, Booth. Please?"

He couldn't have said no to that sleepy, innocent request even if he wanted to. Crawling in beside her fully dressed, he drew her back against his chest and she draped her arms over his as they wrapped around her waist. Maybe in the morning this would turn out to be the wrong move. But for now they were both too tired and exhilarated to think of anything but sleep. In a few moments he'd added his basso-profundo rumble to her alto-pitched snoring. The two of them slept peacefully through the night, unwittingly sheltering each other from nightmares of the past and other such bad dreams.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	9. Date 1, the Next Day

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. 7 more days of teaching and then I can write nonstop for several weeks. Thanks to everybody who has read, reviewed and PMed thus far. Keep the comments coming, please! :)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Most people have a comfortably drowsy in-between waking and sleeping state, known as hypnagogia to those of the squint persuasion. As a former sniper, Booth didn't know the technical term, but he had long ago trained himself away from indulging in such a potentially hazardous reverie. When the snap of a twig could mean a bullet in your brain, you had to be able to go from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds or less, no matter how sleepy. The fragrance of coffee and some kind of sugary pastry brought him bolt upright instantly.

"Owwwww!" He let out a yelp as his back loudly telegraphed its displeasure with yesterday's activities.

Brennan stuck her head out of the bathroom, a black scrunchy held firmly in her mouth. "Back spasm?"

"Good morning to you, too," Booth muttered, hunched IN an incredibly uncomfortable position.

She deftly pulled her hair back and secured it with the hairband. Booth would have grinned if his back hadn't hurt so damn much. Without the use of a flat iron, small copper ringlets escaped the elastic to frame her face, making her look less like Scientist/Playmate and more Casual Romp In the Hay.

"You should've known better than to go sky diving in your condition," she chastised him, hands on her hips. "I estimate the deployment of the first parachute at approximately 120 miles an hour, which would cause no small amount of stress on your already weakened vertebrae."

"A little help here, Bones?" He waved a helpless hand at his contorted spine. "It's way too early for a lecture. How long have you been awake, by the way?""

She sat down on the bed behind him and slid her arms underneath his. "I got up at 6:00. My circadian rhythms are somewhat easily disrupted, so I prefer to maintain a regular waking schedule as much as possible."

"Whatever the hell you just said, I'm liking the touchy feely stuff," sighed Booth. No matter how much he hurt, it felt good to have her pressed up against him so closely. "Hey, Bones? Did you know that yesterday we went sky diving?"

"I'm fully aware of that fact," she informed him, rotating his spine left and right before yanking upwards and causing a distinctly alarming crack. "It would indicate a distinct problem in my short-memory retention if I'd forgotten our date already, Booth."

The snap-crackle-pop up and down his spine worked its magic and Booth groaned in relief. "Ahhhh. Thanks, Bones. You're a miracle worker."

"There is nothing miraculous about a simple spinal adjustment. I'm well-versed in human anatomy and thus am cognizant of various techniques—"

"Bones," he interrupted patiently, twisting around to face her on the bed behind him. Her T-shirt was damp from the shower and clung alluringly to her chest. He kept his eyes firmly on her face and sniffed discreetly, drawing in her warm, enticing perfume. "This is the part where you give me some feedback on our date. As in, did you like it?"

A smile finally replaced the severe scientist look she'd been wearing since Booth opened his eyes. "The experience was truly … exhilarating, Booth. The sensation of being completely unfettered by gravity, even if momentarily, was unique, as was having a bird's perspective on the landscape."

"Bird's eye, Bones. Bird's eye perspective. So it passed the test?"

It wasn't subtle, but, then again, neither was taking her sky diving.

"The date did surpass expectations."

Booth groaned inwardly, wishing it wasn't so damn early._ Why does she always have to dole out compliments in a foreign language?_

"Bones," he begged, for once unconcerned with male pride. "Put me out of my misery here. Are we going out again or not?"

Her middle name had to be ring-around-the-rosy.

"I can't comment on whether there should be another date, Booth, until we discuss the flaw I've detected in the experiment."

He clambered to his feet, needing to put some space between himself and the bewitching, infuriating anthropologist.

"At one point in time did you detect this flaw, Bones?" He stalked towards the table that held both caffeine and a sugar fix. "Was it before we jumped out of the plane? Or maybe afterwards, when you fell asleep next to me?"

Booth knew if he looked back that she'd be wearing a confused look on her face, so he focused on doctoring up what smelled like really burnt coffee with powdered creamer and turbo-milled brown sugar. _Come on! Brown sugar for coffee?_

"It was actually when I was purchasing your pie at McDonald's that the realization struck me."

"Pie?" He tore open the white paper bag with the yellow arches. In spite of how annoyed he was at the minute, he had to admit, he was touched. "You thought of pie for me, Bones?"

"It was the only item on the menu that I was certain you would like."

_Actually, Mickey D's pie tastes like shit, but that's okay, Bones. You're learning._

"So what's the flaw?" He relented and turned to face her again.

She remained perched on the edge of the bed, wearing a distinctly squinty expression. "If after three weeks you kiss me and I find that arousing, why would we continue waiting for another 3 weeks before engaging in sexual intercourse? The experiment was intended to prove that I am still capable of sexual arousal. Therefore—"

Booth choked on a mouthful of really dry pie and had to chug almost an entire paper cup of lukewarm coffee before he could speak again. True to form, Brennan didn't even bother to ask if he was choking. If he had been, a) asking him would have been counterproductive and b) he wouldn't have still been coughing. They'd had _that _debate last week when a customer in the diner inhaled a piece of steak too quickly and she refused to let Booth start the Heimlich because it was still "unnecessary."

"You're not the only one experimenting, Bones," he finally wheezed. "I have what you might call a competing hypothesis, but I don't want to have this conversation with you after every single date. So I won't share the details of my experiment unless you go through with the full 6 weeks of dating. And there can't be anymore arguing about the next and the next and the next. You're either in or …"

Booth baited the trap and waited. Sure enough, Brennan's eternally inquisitive mind walked right in unsuspectingly. She just couldn't resist a mystery.

"All right," she conceded. "I will agree to 6 weeks of dating, Booth, in order to provide an adequate timespan to test both our hypotheses."

Booth rolled his eyes. "You sure know how to flatter a guy, Bones."

"I don't know what—"

"Never mind." He held up a hand in surrender. "Never mind. Let's just get out of here. I know you want to get back to the lab and get some work in before Monday."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Here." Outside the door to her apartment, Booth took Brennan's hand and pressed something into it.

She glanced down in confusion at the tiny piece of folded paper. "What is it?"

"Google the song and listen to it before Monday." He kissed her cheek, then backed away before she could hammer him with questions. "Consider it a virtual daisy," he called over his shoulder.

Bemused, Brennan unfolded the note curiously.

"_When You Come Back Down" by Nickel Creek._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-story A/N: This is where I ask for some help from intrepid readers. For a while now, I've been playing with how to make stories more interactive. As such, I need your cooperation for my own experiment. Somewhere in each chapter from here on out—usually at the end—there will be a song mentioned. Are there any readers out there who would be willing to chase each song down, listen to it before continuing on to the next chapter ****and/or**** read the lyrics, then drop me a line to let me know whether or not the song matched the 'date'? I'd print the lyrics directly in the fic, but the site won't let me. I realize this is a lot to ask. I can also email people lyrics and links, if that would be helpful. Anyway, just a thought. Let me know what you think. (Yes, I know I already published another fic revolving around this song. It just screams Booth and Brennan to me.)**

**Post-story A/N II: For the record, I actually like Mickey D's pie. But I'm no pie connoisseur like Booth is! **


	10. So sappy but not that way

**A/N: Apologies for the short offering—I wanted to post at least something to address the many—and much appreciated—PMs. This is just a prelude to the next date, which I'm really excited about and have already got partially written. Bear with me until I get through Friday and I'll post Date 2 over the weekend. 5 more days of school left!**

**PS: No song in this chapter, since there's no date.**

**PPS: On commercial break from the season finale. Booth and Brennan are sitting on a bench, discussing parting ways … AAAAGH! No way they're gonna split! And if they do—God forbid—no way they're gonna do it so calmly!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan was hunched over Daze Hawthorne's cadaver when Booth arrived at the Jeffersonian late in the afternoon on Monday. He paused to watch her for a moment before climbing the steps. She was wearing heavy-duty, elbow-length yellow gloves, much stronger than the typical latex variety that were probably handed out in every "welcome to the lab, squint" kit. Her hair was wound in a casual bun, held up with a pair of what Booth typically called chopsticks, although he was sure women had some other strange name for the hair accessory. There was no way to tell what she was wearing for their second date—her blue lab coat was buttoned up all the way, disappointingly affording Booth only the merest glimpse of a coral necklace that he knew would look sensational on her fair skin.

Meticulously, Brennan used tweezers to extract invisible fragments of something from the skeleton and held them up to the light. Booth grinned at the trademark squint that followed her visual analysis. Apparently not satisfied, she slid the sample onto a glass side and under a microscope. When she produced her voice recorder and mumbled some kind of scientific gibberish into it, Booth took that as his cue to climb the steps and swipe his card.

The electronic **beep **alerted Brennan to somebody arriving on the platform, but, typically, she didn't glance over to see who it was.

"Any idea what killed the guy yet, Bones?" Booth inquired by way of a greeting.

"Yes, actually." She adjusted a dial on the microscope. "Though the process has been somewhat complicated without Angela and Hodgins' assistance."

"Their temps not making the grade?"

"I would rather discuss that on our date," she informed him stiffly.

Surprised, Booth shrugged. "Sure." He leaned over her shoulder, fully aware of how much she hated hovering, and whispered in her ear teasingly. "So what _have _you been able to figure out, Dr. Brennan?"

She lifted her eye from the lens and gave him a baffled, irritated look before gesturing. "Take a look."

Booth obeyed, knowing he wouldn't have a clue about what he was seeing. "Looks kind of like coral polyps."

"It's hemp fiber. Hemp fiber is made of 55% cellulose. According to Hodgins' replacement, the victim was covered in a highly flammable derivative of tree sap, specifically___**Toxicodendron vernicifluum**_."

He smothered a chuckle at her stubborn refusal to use personal names for anybody in the lab who hadn't yet passed her stringent requirements. Crazy as Booth was about the woman, Temperance Brennan was likely, by many people's definitions, the boss from hell.

"Unfortunately," Brennan continued, oblivious to her partner's off-topic musings, "Hodgins' replacement discovered the genus of the species when she reacted to the highly allergenic compound in the sap, urushiol, which is known to cause contact dermatitis."

Highly allergic compound didn't sound super pleasant. "And in English that would mean …"

Brennan indicated her gloves. "She contracted a severe case of poison ivy after examining samples from the body without adequate protection."

Booth backed away hastily, recalling an unpleasant encounter with poison sumac as a kid. "Geez! So the poison ivy was so bad it killed him? Can that actually happen? Is the temp going to be okay? And shouldn't you be wearing a mask or—"

"I have had no direct contact with the substance, Booth," she reassured him. "And the worst it could do is cause me a similarly uncomfortable case of urticaria. The substance itself is caustic, but not toxic. Our victim died from something entirely different. There's a significant amount of carbon residue caught in both the remaining sap and the victim's trachea and lungs. It seems clear from the physical evidence that Daze Hawthorne was bound with hemp rope to his skate board in a fetal position, covered in flammable resin, and then immolated." Seeing the look on Booth's face, she translated, "Burned alive."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Whoa." Booth covered his eyes momentarily and cringed. "He was alive and tied to his skateboard when whoever did this cooked him?"

"Yes." Brennan looked pensive. "Interestingly, Angela's replacement had a similar reaction to Hodgins' temp."

"You're saying they both got poison ivy?"

"No. Angela's replacement reacted to oils in the hemp fiber, commonly associated with the practice of _bakushi_—Japanese bondage."

"O-kay!" Booth clapped his hands. "This is getting' good and kinky! What do you say we go on our date, Bones, and continue this in the morning? Maybe that'll give you time to get hold of Angela and, you know, pick her brains. She might be able to recreate how this all happened and send it to you by text or something."

She considered his suggestion for a moment and, thankfully, didn't argue. "I need to shower and change first. Traces of the urushiol could still be on my clothing."

"Good idea. You go freshen up and I'll pick you up at 6:30. Wear something really comfortable, Bones. Something you don't mind getting dirty. Sandals, or maybe flip-flops, would be a good thing …"


	11. Seeing isn't always believing

**A/N: Okay, so I couldn't resist posting the beginning of the second date, especially after that excruciating finale ending. But I really need to get back to grading final exams, so there should be no more updates until tomorrow night. (I keep telling myself that, anyway…maybe I'll just get up extra early? ;0) )**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Her idea of comfortable clothing made his internal thermometer rise fast enough to shatter any glass casing. It was hard to keep from gaping at the short shorts and worn baby blue T, molding to her ample curves like velvet gloves. Gloves that Booth very much wished he was wearing. Because that would mean he was wrapped around her …

"Booth? Is my attire appropriate for this date?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, Bones. It's fine. You look fine." _Fine, fine, fine! _Even her beaded leather flip-flops and painted red toenails were sexy. "Shall we?"

She rolled her eyes but took his proffered arm anyway and he escorted her on the short walk to his SUV.

"So where are we going?" Brennan asked as soon as he climbed in.

"You'll see soon … sort of." Booth reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bandanna. "How much do you trust me, Bones?"

"You have ample evidence of my trust in you, Booth." Her response was tinged with impatience. "What does the bandanna have to do with anything?"

"I didn't ask _if _you trust me. I asked _how much _you trust me. Do you trust me enough to let me blindfold you with this?"

She frowned. "If you don't want me to see where we're going, can't I just close my eyes until we get there?"

"Not exactly. See, Bones, you've got this amazing brain that's always going … always thinking … overthinking … The last date was about falling. This date's about less thinking and more feeling."

"I don't know what that means." She sounded irritated, which was the last thing Booth wanted so early in the date.

"Exactly my point." Booth waved the bandanna. "I plan on giving you a very clear demonstration of the difference between thinking and feeling. If you trust me."

"What are you proposing? Are you suggesting that I would be blindfolded the whole date?" When he nodded, her eyebrows climbed all the way to the ceiling. "Booth, that doesn't sound pleasant in the least. Dates are meant to be enjoyed by both parties. How can I actively participate in an excursion if I can't see where I'm going?"

"By trusting our partnership enough to let me lead the way tonight," Booth said softly, taking her hand and turning on the radio. "Listen, Bones. This guy probably says it way better than I can."

He'd timed it exactly right. The DJ was just cueing up his latest set.

"This is a classic, ladies and gents … our listener, Boris, sent in an email request for it. He's asking Natasha to _Have a Little Faith in Me._"


	12. Blind date

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm FINALLY caught up on grading. Five more days and then I'm foot-loose and fancy free! R&R if you have a minute, please. :)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The song wound down, leaving Booth and Brennan sitting quietly in each other's company.

She looked over at him. They'd worked together so long—and he'd taught her enough about the subtleties of human emoting—that she picked up on signs she might otherwise have missed on somebody else: the way he stared fixedly at the windshield, the unusually tight grip on her hand. He was nervous, and she wasn't entirely sure why. It occurred to Brennan that this might be one of those moments when Angela's advice to 'tell him how you feel' would be wise.

"I would prefer the term 'trust.' But the intention behind the lyrics is understood. Thank you, Booth. I've never had a song dedicated to me."

A very slight easing of the tension in his shoulders told her that maybe, for once, she'd conjectured an emotion correctly. She continued cautiously.

"I appreciate the efforts you're going to with these dates, Booth. But is it really necessary to blindfold me? I can keep my eyes closed for as long as necessary."

His thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand. "I don't want you to have to keep thinking about keeping your eyes shut, Bones. I don't want you thinking at all, as much as possible, tonight. But if the blindfold bothers you, it's okay. We can do things differently."

"Booth, I can't promise not to think," she warned him. "It's kind of what I do. But I'll wear the blindfold if it will fulfill one of the conditions of your own experiment. I will attempt to … have a little trust in you." She singsonged the last sentence with a shy grin and was rewarded by a megawatt Booth smile.

Even though she knew, rationally, that her digestive system had nothing whatsoever to do with emotion, Brennan swore she could feel flutters in the pit of her stomach. The man was aesthetically appealing to the extreme.

"Thanks, Bones." He started the ignition before reaching over to help her tie the soft cloth around her eyes.

In spite of her ultimate trust in Booth, the loss of one of Brennan's five senses made her nervous. Sweets would probably have called it a 'control thing.' She leaned back against the leather seats and, per Booth's instructions, attempted not to over-think things.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

About twenty minutes later, she felt the car shifting lanes and turning. The crunch of asphalt under the tires told her they were in a parking lot.

Booth killed the engine and announced, "This is the place."

The baritone rumble caught her by surprise. She'd never really taken into account what a pleasingly deep voice Booth had. It rolled over her skin, straight through the epidermis and dermis to the hypodermis and subcutaneous tissue.

"You're thinking." The teasing tone in his voice was gentle. "I can tell by that squint."

"You can't see my eyes," she protested. "So how do you know if I'm squinting? And I was merely thinking that my Pacinian corpuscles are vibrating improbably in response to your vocalization."

"Thanks, Bones … I think." He sounded confused.

Brennan found that, from her studies of kinesiology and overall knowledge of Booth's verbal linguistics, she could clearly visualize the tightening of the platysma over the sternocledomastoid as his teeth clenched while he debated whether or not to request a translation.

"There's that squint again, Bones …"

"I can't just metaphorically turn off my brain," Brennan exclaimed in frustration. "I _am _trying!"

"Teasing, Bones. Just teasing. Sit tight for a minute."

She heard the car door open and the crunch of his footsteps as he walked over to her side of the vehicle and opened the door.

"The ground's a little uneven right here, so I'm going to carry you a couple feet, Bones. Are you okay with that?"

His concern for both her physical and emotional security was touching. "Your injured lumbered vertebrae, Booth. We shouldn't aggravate it any further—"

"I'll be fine. Your shoes need to come off, too, by the way. Don't ask why, please."

She kicked her flip-flops off obediently—not a word usually associated with her personality.

He slid an arm under her legs and the other around her back, then lifted her easily. Automatically, Brennan wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself in close to him. This gave her an unexpectedly intimate awareness of Booth's strongly defined biceps, triceps and deltoids—assets that she'd previously only been unable to assess visually. Even the occasional tight hug between them hadn't provided nearly as thorough an anatomy lesson.

"What'cha thinkin', Bones?" Booth drawled.

"How do you know—"

"I just do," he interrupted. "I'm thinking too, you know." His voice darkened slightly and he tilted his head to whisper in her ear. The warmth of his breath on her skin made her shiver. "Thinking it feels good to have you in my arms like this. Just like it felt good the other night when I carried you into the hotel."

"I'm enjoying the sensation as well," Brennan admitted. "However, I'm concerned about your weak spine, Booth. Please, will you just let me walk to wherever it is we're going?"

The muscles enveloping her tightened, alerting Brennan to her mistake.

"Here's a hint, Bones. Don't tell a guy anything about him is weak. It doesn't fly too well with alpha-males." His voice was angry as he kicked the car door shut and stalked away from it, carrying her toward their unknown destination.

"I didn't intend to insult your physical prowess, Booth. Without the benefit of my sight, I'm having to make do with touch as a means to gauging your strength. And, though I've seen repeated demonstrations of your physical capabilities, I will admit that my conjectures fell somewhat short. Your muscle density is extraordinary."

"Bones, did you just tell me I'm hot in squint-speak?" Amusement was evident in his voice, even if she couldn't see his eyes laughing. She found these variations in his speech patterns both reassuring and affecting in her presently sightless state.

"I'm setting you down now." Carefully, he moved his arm from under her legs and let her lower half drop slowly, without removing his other arm from her waist.

Her feet touched grass and she gasped involuntarily at the shock of the cold, wet blades under her soles. She'd been expecting concrete pavement for some reason.

"Booth, where _are _we?"

"Shhh. Just for a couple minutes, Bones, don't say anything. Okay? Just listen. Listen and walk with me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was disconcerting to step forward into the darkness—more so than leaping from the plane, for some reason. She was infinitely grateful for Booth's steady arm on her waist, guiding each of her blind steps.

A warm evening breeze washed over them, arousing Brennan's already heightened senses. Notes of a soft, sweet fragrance drifted by, carried on the same gentle zephyr. Birds twittered overhead loudly. A dog barked in the distance and she thought she heard the chatter of an alarmed squirrel, corroborating the likely presence of nearby trees.

Grass soon gave way to soft, slick mud, surrounding her toes with a comforting squish. D.C. hadn't seen any rain lately, so they were probably near a lake. A loud nearby splash and its accompanying strident honk confirmed her theory. She laughed at the aggravated chatter of the waterfowl, clearly disturbed by their presence.

It was an absurd notion, but she thought she could almost feel Booth smile silently beside her. He continued to lead her forward, over a small incline lined with what felt like wooden planks--logically, that would be a bridge—and back onto the tender grass again. They brushed by a tall clump of … something… releasing a whole new bouquet of fragrances into her olfactory epithelium. The scent was heady, like diving through a cloud of subtle perfume.

"Here." Booth pulled her up short. "Just one sec."

He released her and she felt suddenly bereft and completely alone in the darkness. Then his hands were back on her waist. "Have a seat, Bones."

He tugged her forward and down. As she settled onto the iron frame, the bench he had chosen for them rocked unexpectedly. She slid sideways into him.

He chuckled and looped an arm around her. "Ready, Bones?"

"For what?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"Another kind of flying."

She felt his thighs flex beside hers, propelling the swing forward. This was an activity she hadn't participated in since early childhood, but her vague memories of those days didn't do it justice. Surely there couldn't have been anything particularly stimulating about a simple device designed to recreate a pendular movement. She'd written several papers in college physics classes on the problem of starting a swing from rest, so she knew exactly how the mechanism functioned. Again, she had the strange, irrational sensation that she could feel Booth smiling.

"You're running through mathematical equations in your head, aren't you, Bones." He wasn't asking a question.

"How do you know?" she demanded. "There's no way you can know exactly what I'm thinking!"

"I know you," he replied simply. "Now stop analyzing things." He squeezed her waist to emphasize his point. "Just be here with me on a swing for a minute, Bones. Later on you can take it all apart under a microscope." Again, his words were gentle, letting her know he accepted her for who he was and was only teasing.

Her stomach dropped as they picked up speed and she laughed at the absurdity and wonder of the evening.

"Remember that full moon from the other day, Bones?"

"Mmm."

"It's right overhead. Must have followed us here."

His comment was completely unscientific but she didn't contradict him. She rested her head on his shoulder and reveled in the feel of the wind rising around them as they swung higher. The warmth of her partner's solid frame countered any slight chill.

"The clouds are almost covering the moon, but not quite, and an owl just flew under it. I didn't know there were owls in D.C. Maybe they live in these big old trees surrounding us. I don't know what kind they are. Oak, maybe?"

She listened to him describe the scenery around them. His view was unfiltered through the lens of science and lacked any objectivity or concrete scientifics. And yet, Brennan found herself metaphorically seeing better through his eyes than she did through her own.

"There are all sorts of wildflowers scattered around us, Bones. I kind of thought they all closed up for the night, but these are still open."

"What colors are they?"

"Dark red with yellow edges. Someone told me those were called blanket-flowers once. Don't know why. There are some purple ones, kind of tall and spiky."

"Wild lupine, probably. My mother had them in our garden."

"My mom liked violets, but there aren't any around here. I think they need hothouses or something to seed."

Neither specifically acknowledged the doors to the past they were opening.

"What else, Booth?"

"There are some dark orange ones, and a few dandelions. A lot of frilly looking pink things. No daisies, though. Sorry."

"Don't be."

Booth kissed her temple and nudged her closer. "A chipmunk just ran across the branch overhead. Real fat little thing. Maybe he's Simon's cousin."

"I don't know what that means."

The waves of the nearby lake sloshed against the shore rhythmically.

"Cartoon characters I grew up with, Bones. Saturday morning classics—the Chipmunks. Simon was brainy, like you. Then there was Alvin, the bad-ass, obviously, me. And Theodore, the sweet, cuddly, loving one. Angela, maybe?"

"I'm not sure Angela would appreciate hearing herself compared to a rodent," Brennan mused sleepily. "I don't know how I feel about it, actually."

"But these were_ talking_ chipmunks, Bones. Not your everyday garden variety. What's the difference between comparing yourself to a chipmunk and a Smurf, anyway? They're the same size …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The night slipped away around them as they talked easily, gliding back and forth in the breeze.

Booth finally brought the swing to a halt. "There's one more part to our date, Bones. You ready for it?"

She wasn't, really. It would've been easy to remain ensconced comfortably with him on the swing all night and even longer.

"We don't have to go very far." He eased away.

Again, there was that lonely, cold feeling as he left her alone momentarily. Then his hands returned to her waist and helped her up. Her legs were surprisingly wobbly.

"How long were we on the swing, Booth?"

"A while," he answered cryptically. "You okay to walk a little farther?"

She yawned. "Okay."

He led her through the forest of trees he'd described earlier, warning her away from clumps of pine needles and other debris that would've been painful on her bare feet. The ground sloped upward gently, going from grass to soft earth, this time not muddy but pliant and giving beneath her toes nonetheless. It reminded her almost of sand, except for the finer texture.

"I'm going to take the blindfold off now, Bones," Booth said quietly, bringing her to a halt. "When I tell you to, open your eyes very slowly."

The darkness had become comforting, and she was as reluctant to part with it as she had been their embrace on the swing. He tugged the bandanna away and shadows immediately filtered into her consciousness.

He slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her head. "Slowly, Bones. Open your eyes. Now."

She did as he asked, flinching as the cloak of soft darkness fell away. For a moment things were hazy and out of focus, leaving her feeling as though she'd stepped into an alternate reality. Then her vision cleared and her breath caught in her chest.

They were standing on a hill, looking out across a gleaming blue lake. Beyond the body of water, the sky was a delicate lilac hue, backlit by hints of silver and orange. The sun was just rising at the center of this natural canvas, pouring its palette of light gold and dark reds across the heavens.

"Oh." Brennan's vision blurred once again. "Booth."

She tore her eyes away for a moment to look up at him. For five years, she'd worked beside this man. But she'd never really seen him as she did in this moment, with his eyes tired but happy, focusing on her intently as though she were the sunrise itself.

Reaching up, she brushed her lips across his jaw, lingering on the light stubble and wishing she could rub her cheek against it. "Thank you."

She wanted to say so much more, and he knew it. She could see it in his gaze, glinting down at her tenderly. He also knew that she didn't know _how _to say whatever it was she wanted to say. He knew her better than she knew herself.

"Watch the sunrise, Bones. For just a little bit longer … no over-thinking." He gently turned her back toward the lake and, together, they watched night's lingering darkness defeated by the sun's powerful rays.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

At the door to her apartment, she lingered and stalled, wanting more than anything to kiss him. To thank him. To show him physically what it seemed she was incapable of expressing verbally.

Booth grinned at the play of emotions across his partner's face. "Before you go to bed, Bones, listen to this and think of our evening." He slipped another small piece of paper into her hands. "I'm at an FBI training all day today, so I won't see you at the lab."

"But you haven't gotten any sleep!" she protested. "You can't possibly—"

"I'll be fine. Take the day off today, Bones. Get some rest." He kissed her forehead, frustratingly chaste. "Next date's Friday. Okay?"

She nodded numbly and watched him walk away before unfolding the note he'd given her.

_Google __**Sunrise by The Who. **__And make sure it's by The Who, Bones. There's all sorts of other crap out there with the same title. But The Who's version is a modern classic. Thanks for trusting me tonight. You may now let the squint take back over your brain.. :) Have you thought about how I might top this evening on our next date? That'll be our first full week together, by the way …_


	13. Where's Hodgins when you need him?

With Hodgins, Angela, and both temps out, Cam was understandably unhappy when Brennan followed Booth's advice and called to say she would be taking the day off, then hung up the phone without supplying nearly enough details.

Not that her boss' irritation had any effect on Brennan. She put in more than her share of overtime, rarely took personal days, and, thus, had no compunctions on asking for an occasional sabbatical if circumstances truly merited it. Crawling into bed under freshly laundered sheets, and spending a few unusually blissful hours dreaming about her second date with Booth, qualified as just such an occasion.

She woke several hours later to the uncomfortable sensation that arthropods were creeping across—and tunneling under—her skin. Kicking back the sheets, she discovered that large sections of her epidermis were covered in a mottled, pruritic red rash, dotted with small white blisters. Her phone rang at the exact moment she was contemplating scratching her way through to the dermis in an attempt to relieve the discomfort.

"Brennan."

"_Bones, you gave me poison ivy!" _

She sat up in bed, unsurprised. They had both been in the presence of the cadaver, so it followed that her symptoms would closely resemble Booth's. And, while direct contact with urushiol resin was the accepted method of contamination, cases of airborne transmission were not unheard of, such as when the plant was burned. Given her as-yet-unconfirmed hypothesis of Hawthorne's immolation, it was plausible that particulates of—

"_Bones?" _Booth's aggravated voice filtered through the receiver.

"Technically, I have not 'given' you anything." Brennan opened her nightstand and retrieved a pair of socks. "Undiluted by water, urushiol maintains its effectiveness for at least 5 years. You've most likely contracted allergic contact dermatitis from exposure to Daze Hawthorne's contaminated cadaver."

"_Don't blame the dead guy!"_ Booth's voice was more than slightly agitated. "_After the temps both came down with hives, you shouldn't have kept messing with that stuff without wearing one of your super-squint space suits."_

"Weren't you at an FBI conference?" Brennan pulled the socks over her hands to prevent over-eager abrading of her irritated flesh.

"_Yeah. But when I started scratching like a chimpanzee in the middle of the stage, Cullen kind of had something to say about it!" _His voice rose in frustration. "_Bones. Help. Me!"_

"I'm not a medical doctor, Booth, however, I believe there are likely a number of pharmacological remedies for pruritus available at the nearest drugstore."

"_I can't stop scratching long enough to drive, Bones, and the blisters are so big they make me look halfway like Freddy Krueger. I'd scare the Idlewild pharmacist. Plus, my face is so swollen it's hard to see."_

That gave her pause from her own discomfort. "I don't know who Freddy Cougar is, but it sounds like you're having an unusually severe reaction to the urushiol, Booth. You most likely need to seek medical attention."

"_Not happening,"_ he informed her. "_When I was a kid I got into a patch of poison sumac. I reacted allergically to all the cortisone shots and other shit they tried on me at the hospital and it made things 10 times worse. Just give me some kind of hotel remedy I can try to relieve the itching."_

"I would propose that one potential solution is to call Hodgins. His knowledge of botany is far superior to mine."

"_Not nearly fast enough, Bones. By the time you get through to him, I'll have scratched my skin down to the bone and you'll be examining my remains on one of your lab tables."_

"That is a highly unlikely scenario."

"_You know what, Bones? Never mind. I'll just go terrorize kids on Elm Street. Thanks anyway."_

The dial tone filled her ears before she could ask what that meant.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's skin felt tight and overheated, like he'd been badly sunburned, and overwhelmingly itchy, as though he'd been stung repeatedly by mosquitoes on steroids. As long as he stood under a freezing jet of water, he could almost keep from scratching. Almost.

He'd silently endured days of torture on multiple occasions, but saw no reason to keep stoically quiet in this situation. When he rubbed his back against the cold shower tile and multiple blisters popped, adding a painful stinging to the increasingly violent itch, he cursed loudly and satisfyingly.

A loud knock sounded on his hotel room door.

"Come in!" he yelled, expecting room service. "Leave the bucket of ice on my dresser, please. Thanks, Emily!"

His hot skin had quickly worked its way through the available ice in the ancient hallway machine, and he'd resorted to begging for handouts from the receptionist. She'd been kind enough to repeatedly lug bags of ice to him from downstairs. Booth's teeth chattered at the thought of another ice bath, even as his skin pleaded for relief.

"There are a wide variety of conflicting solutions on how to treat contact dermatitis resulting from exposure to urushiol. I would surmise from your comment that you have been applying cold to the affected areas."

"_Bones?" _He stuck his head out of the shower and caught a glimpse of his partner in the bathroom mirror. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She waltzed into the bathroom cavalierly as though he weren't butt naked less than a foot away, behind a flimsy plastic partition. He pulled his head back into the shower hastily.

"As I am partially responsible for exposing you to the allergen on Daze Hawthorne's cadaver, it follows that I should at least attempt to render some form of scientifically-based assistance."

_Shit. _ He knew how literally she tended to take things.

"Aw, Bones," he groaned, feeling worse than he had 5 minutes ago, if that was even possible. "I wasn't really blaming you when I said you gave me poison ivy. I was probably exposed at the crime scene."

"Nevertheless, your statements on the phone led me to believe that you required assistance."

If Booth's skin hadn't already been on fire, it would've been at Brennan's squint-styled admission that she was worried about him. He chose to postpone that line of conversation until he was slightly better dressed.

He stood under the stream of water and listened to the clank of metal, the sink faucet running, and Brennan bustling around. "What are you doing?"

"This hotel room has no refrigerator. I am creating a self-contained cooling mechanism for a remedy suggested by Hodgins." More clanking.

Now he was as curious as he was itchy. "Mind leaving the bathroom for a minute, Bones?"

"Why?"

"So I can get dressed …"

"Clothing will only aggravate your discomfort," she pointed out rationally. "Furthermore, your garments may contain traces of the allergen."

"Just leave so I can grab a towel, Bones."

"And," she continued, "As we are both experiencing similar symptoms, it is improbable that either of would feel the urge for sexual consummation at present, even if you remain nude."

"Bones, would you just—" he interrupted his own annoyed rant. "Wait a minute. Similar symptoms?"

"I have also been affected by the urushiol and would appreciate a turn in the shower when you vacate the premises, as you are unlikely to allow me to join you."

"You drove all the way here with poison ivy?"

The click of the door told him she'd finally honored his request to 'vacate the premises.' He hopped out of the shower and snagged a fresh towel, wincing as he wrapped it around his raw waist and legs. The rash was uncomfortably close to specific areas of his anatomy that had a tendency to respond to Bones' presence and he could only pray it didn't migrate further south.

His eyes fell on her makeshift refrigerator-sink, filled with ice and cans of beer. "What's with the booze, Bones?" he called.

"I was able to locate Hodgins. He suggested that alcohol might serve a doublefold purpose, both as a topical analgesic that serves to dilute any remaining traces of resin on the skin and as a societally approved measure for mental self-medication."

It took him a moment to translate into English. When he did, Booth had to fight the urge to laugh, cry and scratch simultaneously. "So, you're saying we're going to get drunk and then pour beer on each other?"

"That is exactly how Hodgins verbalized the suggestion. Angela was in strong agreement as to the potential efficacy of the remedy."

"I bet she was." Securing the towel a little tighter, Booth scratched at his arms and pushed open the door. Brennan was leaned over the bed digging through a pile of paper bags. She was still in the same skimpy clothes from the previous night and the mottled rash was immediately evident on her fair skin, all along her legs, arms, and neck. He cringed at the thought of how uncomfortable her long drive must have been.

"Hodgins also suggested a variety of other remedies. Sodium bicarbonate is apparently an effective analgesic paste, as are oatmeal and calamine lotion …" The litany of home remedies continued as she rooted through her purchases. She didn't know how to express her concern verbally, so she'd apparently opted for buying out the entire 'first aid' section at Walgreens.

Guilt clashed with amusement and equally loud cymbals of desire in Booth's head, momentarily muting the frantic need to claw at his skin. Brennan glanced over at him and he saw the blisters covering her face, liberally spread with some kind of green ointment that didn't do one thing to diminish her loveliness.

_Dammit._

Towel or no towel, rash or no rash, he just had to hold her for a minute. He snagged a clean T-shirt from the suitcase on the floor, dragged it on and walked up behind her. "Thanks, Bones."

She scratched absently at her neck with gloved hands. "Why?"

"Just for being Bones." He cut off her inevitable questions by tugging her against him.

Various blisters on his chest exploded at the rough treatment, causing intense itching, but it didn't matter for a minute as she responded by relaxing into him and tilting her head curiously to look up at him. His swollen appearance apparently didn't bother her.

"That statement is nonsensical, Booth."

"So is this," he retorted, struggling for self-control. "I'm covered from head to toe, and everywhere in between—_everywhere_, Bones—with the rash from hell, and yet you walk in the room and I can only think of one thing."

"Oh." The soft surprise in her voice made his head spin. She really had no idea of the effect she had on him.

"Where were you when I got poison sumac as a kid?" He kissed the top of her head fiercely before releasing her. "That was a rhetorical question," he added, seeing her formulating an answer already. "What else you got in the bags, Bones?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The woman not only drove two hours bearing beer and Benadryl, she also thought of double cheeseburgers, fries and apple pie. Booth swallowed a sigh and wondered what, exactly, it would take to convince his partner that her heart was already eminently open to his.

They were settled on the bed comfortably eating, her cross-legged in a knee-length t-shirt damp from the shower, him clad in boxers, sprawled on his stomach. It had been six or seven hours since his last meal, and the greasy meal was currently outshining even Sid's best offerings. He crunched on a pickle happily, trying to avoid the thought that, already, the itch under his skin was returning.

"Booth, what's a Vulcan?"

He paused in mid-chew. "Why?"

Brennan shrugged. "There are limited restaurants in Idlewild. When I was requesting my soy burger at Nora's Café, the cashier made a comparison between myself and a Vulcan. My only frame of reference for the comment is the Greek god of the Forge, but I don't see the connection."

The burger he'd been enjoying a moment ago turned to sawdust in his mouth. "What exactly did the cashier say?"

Clearly unconcerned, she snagged one of his fries before answering. "I believe his exact words were, 'Check out the Vulcan chick.' "

Booth's skin suddenly itched for an entirely different reason, one which could easily be resolved by rubbing a certain asswipe's nose in a large patch of poison ivy.

"The look on your face is distinctly alpha-male," Brennan observed. "Which leads me to believe that 'Vulcan' has a negative connotation, causing you to have a sudden desire to avenge my female sensibilities. That reaction is, of course, antiquated and unnecessary."

He controlled his temper with difficulty. "It's only negative if you don't know Spock's backstory, Bones."

"I don't know what that means."

"How long do you figure we'll be stuck here?" Demolishing the remains of his burger, he reached for the Styrofoam container that held dessert.

"The effects of urushiol can last for several weeks."

Booth blanched, fork in hand. Much as he liked the idea of being locked up in a hotel room with Brennan, poison ivy did throw a wrench in the plans he'd carefully laid for the next few weeks.

"However," she continued, draining the last of an iffy-looking Asian beer that she insisted was meant to be consumed lukewarm instead of iced, "Hodgins assured me that the combination of several specific home remedies should reduce the duration to several days at the most."

"So we have at least a couple of days to kill."

"It's likely." She glared at his pie. "I just don't understand your taste for stewed fruit."

An idea began to take shape inside his head. "Bones, did you see any video stores when you were out buying the food?"

"None," she asserted. "However, I can purchase and download any video directly onto my laptop. Why?"

He scooped the last of the pie onto his fork. "The next few days might not be so bad after all."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you think so. Cam will be most unhappy when she learns that the remainder of her staff has been incapacitated."

Booth rolled off the bed. "Why don't we try one of Hodgins' remedies? Then I'll let you in on my plans for our next date."

"We can't go on a date like this!" Brennan exclaimed, gestured at their matching rashes.

"Sure we can." Booth grinned. "You have much to learn, young grasshopper. Much indeed."

"Why are you referring to me as an arthropod's larvae?" she asked in confusion. "And you still haven't defined the term 'Vulcan' for me."

"You'll understand more after our date."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Stop struggling!" Brennan commanded. "Our supply of alcohol is limited and I've just inverted a significant quantity onto the floor."

"There _are _liquor stores in Idlewild, Bones. And how else am I supposed to react?" Booth wriggled uncomfortably in his position bent halfway over the tub. Foamy brown rivulets trickled down his neck and bare spine. "The beer is damn cold!"

"It's supposed to be. According to Hodgins, the temperature is supposed to act in collusion with the alcohol to numb the skin."

"It stings," he complained, as she sloshed another measure of Miller Lite across his torso. He'd refused to let her use the Newcastle Brown Ale for this experiment in alcoholic pseudo-homeopathy. "It stinks. And it certainly doesn't feel like it's helping the itch at all."

"Would you prefer to try the remedy on me?" she demanded in irritation. "I'm also considerably uncomfortable due to the effects of the urushiol. But I would need to remove my shirt first."

The mental image of a bra-clad, beer-drenched Brennan decidedly did _not _have a cooling effect on Booth.

"Forget it, Bones." He straightened and nudged her away. "Hodgins was way off on this one. It's just too College Spring Break. Let me shower the stink off first, and then why don't we go the calamine route instead?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He hadn't bargained on how good her hands would feel as they smoothed the pink lotion into his raw, inflamed skin. Of course, the way she was straddling his lower spine didn't help matters any either. Her fingers were firm and sure, working their way up his legs, across his back, and over his arms.

"Is it helping any?" she inquired.

"Actually, yeah," Booth admitted, his voice muffled against the pillow. "My skin feels a little cooler."

"The primary ingredient, zinc oxide, creates a cooling sensation by shrinking blood vessels near the surface of the epidermis, which would otherwise be leaking from contact with the allergen."

"Whatever you say, Bones. All I know is, the ants have momentarily stopped doing a jig under my skin."

"Turn over and I'll apply the ointment to your chest, forearms and thighs."

_Oh, God. _Booth sent up multiple prayers for self-control to any saints within hearing range.

She crawled off him and he flopped over onto his back, closing his eyes tightly. To his relief, Brennan didn't straddle his waist again. Instead, she knelt by his side as she spread the lotion in a circular motion across his upper body. He almost dared to think he was safe, until she spoke again.

"How frequently do you work out, Booth?"

Instantly, he was on alert. "Couple times a week, at least. Why?"

"Although it is presently somewhat obscured by the rash, you have beautiful musculature. Clearly your routine is effective."

"Thanks, Bones," he muttered, not at all comfortable with where this conversation seemed headed.

She continued to run her hands across him obliviously. "For example, your pectoralis major has extraordinary definition. What exercises do you use?"

"Peck decks, pushups, crossovers," Booth hissed through clenched teeth as her fingers trailed across the muscle in question. "Among others."

"What about for your deltoid muscles?" She squeezed his shoulder.

"Military presses, lateral raises, barbell shrugs." Booth gasped slightly as her hands dropped lower.

"I'm equally impressed by the tone of your latissimus dorsi and rectus abdominus muscles."

"Rollouts, pulldowns, chin ups, sit ups," he recited without being asked.

When she dragged her palms across his abs and onto his thighs, a solar flare roared across the back of Booth's eyelids. His eyes flew open and he glared at Brennan as she continued to carefully apply the lotion on his lower half. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was playing him.

She poured more lotion into her palm and lingered on his calves. "You gastrocnemius muscles are superbly sculpted."

"Lateral step-ups, squats, curls." His breath was labored, as though he'd run a mile. "What the hell are you doing to me, Bones?"

Blue eyes glanced up at him coyly from under long, sultry lashes. "Proving my point that delayed gratification isn't all it's crashed up to be."

"Cracked up, Bones. _Cracked _up to be, you squinty little minx." He snared her waist and flipped her so she lay pinned firmly beneath him. "Two can play the same game. But it isn't going any farther than this. Not tonight."

He leaned back, straddled her hips, and poured calamine lotion into his palms then warmed it in his hands before sliding his hands under her shirt and onto her abdomen. "What's this muscle, Bones? It feels good and defined, by the way."

"That's the transverse abdominus," she informed him primly.

He smoothed the calamine into the firm plane running across her midsection and grinned at her sharp intake of breath. "And what's _your _workout routine for this part of your anatomy, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yoga Triangle Pose and Warrior Pose II works the transverse abdominus as well as the obliques."

"And these would be the obliques, correct?"

"Ye-es."

He dragged his hands up her sides, chuckling as she squirmed ticklishly.

"Booth, stop it!" she slapped at his hands futilely.

"You started this, baby." He grinned devilishly at the annoyed look on her face. "Tell me, Bones," he whispered, leaning in slightly and tracing his fingers right beneath her bra, "Is this called the pectoralis major on a woman, too, or does it have another special name?"

"Same nomenclature," she panted.

"You'll have to put your own calamine lotion on that part of your anatomy," Booth said regretfully. "We are so not going there tonight. But in a few weeks you can school me on the proper technical terms, Dr. Brennan," he teased.

Her breath huffed out in frustration as his hands dropped lower, away from the danger zone, and back out from underneath her shirt. He poured another capful of calamine lotion.

"What muscles are these, Bones?" He drew his hands down her shapely legs in long, smooth strokes, careful to avoid rupturing the large blisters on her calves and thighs.

"Vastus lateralis. Vastus medialis. Tibialis anterior," she chanted breathlessly.

"And your workout routine?"

"Chair pose. Half Frog. Heron."

"I don't know what that means …" he finished applying lotion to her lower half and nodded. "On your stomach."

She flipped over with a slight groan and Booth slid his hands under her shirt again.

"You've gotta have the world's softest skin, Bones." He layered the calamine across her smooth, lean torso. "What do you call this?"

"The trapezius. Child's Pose is an excellent stretch for the muscle."

"Well, your trapezius feels very tight." He set to work easing away the knots, kneading the large muscle rhythmically from the base of the neck, working outwards toward the arms with slow, steady pressure.

"Booth, that feels … extraordinary. Have you taken any masseuse training?"

"Not officially. I just kind of go with what feels good. Does this?"

"Yes."

"And this?" He dug his thumbs into a particularly deep knot.

"God, Booth, yesssss …"

If either one had thought about it, they would've gotten a good laugh at how absurd a picture they presented: two poison-ivy afflicted individuals, lusting for each other in spite of the extensive layers of zinc oxide they were wearing.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: While I'm no scientist, my unfortunately rather extensive personal experiences with poison ivy came into play here. Much of what you're reading (I won't embarrass myself with specifics) is tried and true.**

**No song this chapter, because there wasn't a date. I still appreciate any and all feedback on my interactive/musical fic experiment. Next to come, Booth's attempt at improvising a calamine-covered date on the fly (yes, I do actually have a song in mind for that one), while educating Brennan about pop-culture … **

**Thanks to all those who continue to R&R. Your feedback keeps me going! I'm out of school for the summer now so, assuming there is continued interest, I will be posting more regularly for several weeks, both on this story and on "Standards" and "Return."**

_._


	14. Popcorn and Emily

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: So, I didn't write as much as I would have liked today. My house was a mess after the long last 2 weeks of school where I was too busy to do anything but grade, and, after cleaning, I felt like treating myself to a nice breakfast, which wound up being about 4 hours long. Then all sorts of other stuff got in the way … at any rate, it's a short chapter and there's no song, since we're not quite at the date yet. I promise I'll write more tomorrow! Or maybe even tonight, depending on how long my eyes can stay open. :)**

"We need popcorn," Booth said flatly. "The date isn't gonna happen without it."

"Why?"

"Because you can't do a movie marathon without popcorn," he explained patiently. "It's part of the whole nine yards."

"A marathon is much longer than nine yards. And we have no way of obtaining popcorn, Booth," Brennan pointed out in exasperation, calamine-covered hands planted firmly on her hips. "Neither of us is fit to leave the room in our present state."

A discreet knock on the door interrupted their argument. "Mr. Booth? I brought you some more ice."

The thought of having the pretty concierge see his calamine-plastered body made Booth cringe. "Hang on, Emily!" He dashed for the bathroom, waving madly at Brennan.

"What?" she hissed.

"Answer the door. She can't see me like this."

"Why not? Surely she noted your condition when delivering the ice previously."

"Yeah, but back then I wasn't _pink!"_

She glanced down at her own skin. "I'm pink."

"You're a girl," Booth growled from the shelter of the shower.

"I fail to see the connection." Brennan stalked over to the door and wrenched it open.

Clearly, the young woman on the other side wasn't expecting to see another female. She flinched and held up the ice bucket. Sweets would have said she was using it as a shield, which wouldn't have been an entirely misguided assumption, although Brennan would stringently have denied being frightening.

"Is Mr. Booth feeling any better?" Emily asked timidly.

"The urushiol's effects have been temporarily mitigated by a topical application of zinc oxide," Brennan informed her, "Thus, the ice will not be necessary."

"Oh. Um. Glad to hear it." The concierge backed away. "Give Mr. Booth my best, please."

"Just a minute." Brennan held the girl in her tractor beam gaze. "Agent Booth is of the opinion that a movie cannot be viewed unless popcorn is consumed in tandem with it. His argument about the whole twelve yards seems lacking in rationale, given that a marathon is much longer, and food consumption, with its subsequent enjoyment, is not generally equated with the metric system. What is your opinion on the subject?"

"Uh … popcorn's always good, I guess," stammered Emily.

Brennan frowned and considered the situation. "In that case, would you be willing to procure a box for us, given that we cannot presently leave the building? I'm aware that such an errand doesn't fall in the jurisdiction of your duties, but it would allow Booth and me to proceed with his metaphorical marathon."

"Sure. Sure," gabbled Emily. "Popcorn coming up."

"Thank you," Brennan called politely after the rapidly retreating concierge.

She turned back into the room, only to find Booth leaned up against the bathroom door, arms crossed and glowering. "What?"

"Did you have to be so mean?"

Brennan blinked in surprise. "I was not 'mean.' And I solved our popcorn dilemma. "

"She was bringing me ice as a favor. Sending her to the store for popcorn is taking things a little far."

"She seemed quite willing," Brennan shrugged. "She's a very attractive young woman. Did you know that scientists in Tel Aviv created an algorithm for the ideal face, containing traits that are deemed universally attractive?"

"Surprisingly, that's one magazine article I never got around to reading," Booth commented dryly.

"Symmetry—where one side of the face is mirrored by the other—signals health and strength, whereas full lips and big eyes connote youth and fertility because of their correlation with high estrogen levels in post-pubescent women. Both you and your brother have extraordinary facial symmetry, which would explain your position as an object of sexual attraction for the opposite sex."

"There are other reasons women like me!" he protested.

"Pointed, narrow chins, such as Emily's, are perceived as being feminine," she continued, "Whereas a square jaw, such as yours, connotes masculinity and dominance, due to the correlation with an increase in testosterone during puberty."

"I can't believe it," Booth muttered softly.

"Studies have also shown that eyes spaced far apart are considered more becoming than those set close together. Euclid, Plato and Pythagoras identified such ideal proportions as a "golden ration" of one to 1.62, which is perceived as harmonious in mathematics, art and architecture." She ended her enumeration of scientific studies with a puzzled glance in her partner's direction. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're jealous."

If she'd been a drama queen, her jaw might have dropped. Since she wasn't, Brennan settled for pursing her lips tightly. "I am not."

"Yeah, you are." A slow grin spread across his symmetrical features. "That's why you gave Emily the untried-squint treatment."

"I don't know what that means, but if you're positing that I treated her any differently because we are currently dating, I did not," Brennan huffed.

Booth detached himself from the bathroom door and ambled over to his partner. He could've teased her—definitely would later, as a matter of fact—but for now he settled for hugging her tightly.

She stood rigidly in his embrace, refusing to capitulate.

"It's okay, Bones. I get jealous every time another guy even looks your way."

"That's absurd," she snapped, "As well as most certainly an exaggeration."

"No, it isn't. I get that you're not mine, Bones," Booth said quietly, "But that doesn't keep me from wishing things were different. When guys check you out, I may not have any actual rights to the territory, but bad things still happen inside my head."

"Viewing a woman as property is antiquated and demeaning." Her words were muffled against his shirt and held little sting.

"You know that's not how I meant it." Booth nudged her chin up to meet his gaze and, as expected, found her clear blue eyes full of confusion that she refused to acknowledge. She was way out of her depth emotionally.

"Emily has absolutely nothing on you, Temperance," he said firmly. "I don't give a damn about symmetry or wide eyes or pointy chins. She's nowhere near you in the looks, brains or personality department. And even if she was, it wouldn't matter. You're it for me, Bones. You have been ever since that first day at the university, and always will be. Period."

She dropped her head back to his shoulder and sighed in frustration. "I don't understand your certainty."

"It's like popcorn and movies, Bones. One without the other is pretty bland. Same thing: Without you, there isn't much of a me." He decided she'd ventured far enough out of her comfort zone for one night and deliberately lightened the mood. "Besides. Why would I even be interested in somebody who couldn't tell me all the squinty names for my anatomy?"

Her soft chuckle did wonders to ease the tension in Booth's own trapezius.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	15. Date 3

**A/N: Okay, so, obviously I could have come up with 6000 different movies for Booth to use while schooling Brennan in pop-culture lore. I opted to go exclusively with references made in the show. Thanks much to Skole for the suggestions. **

**Warning: There are some definite pop-culture tangents here. If you're not familiar with the movies or TV series mentioned, the chapter might get a little confusing. I promise, future chapters mostly refrain from similar pop-culture surfeit, but this one was necessary for the plot of the story.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Another knock on the door sounded as Booth was downloading movies.

"I'll get it," Brennan offered.

"No." He shoved the laptop off his knees and stood. "_We'll _get it."

"Booth, I understand that you want to set me at ease about Emily, but I assure you, I'm fine."

He looped an arm around her waist and winked. "Just so there's no misunderstanding about who I'm actually with. Open the door, Dr. Brennan."

Shrugging, she did as he asked. The smile on Booth's face died as Emily's counterpart, an earnest young man with a prominent gold nametag labeling him as David, smiled awkwardly at the calamine-covered partners.

"Popcorn?" He held out a yellow shopping bag.

Booth snatched the bag, muttered something about adding the cost to the hotel bill, and slammed the door shut.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Now_ that _was mean," Brenan commented archly.

"Don't even start, Bones," he warned, handing her the box. "Why don't you pop this in our little bitty microwave, while I finish settin' up the movie, okay?"

"Okay, okay." The amusement in her voice was obvious. "So what are we watching?"

Booth's earlier good humor returned. "Our menu for this evening's entertainment consists of a well-rounded pop-cultural medley." He settled back on the bed against a mountain of pillows, dragged the computer onto his lap and put on a theatrical announcer's voice. "We begin the evening with classic horror fare, specifically, _A Nightmare on Elm Street_."

"You referenced Elm Street earlier," Brennan called from the bathroom where, bizarrely, the microwave was located. "I'm assuming the movie has some connection to an individual's disfigured appearance."

He winced. "Let's try and keep the squint speak to a minimum during the marathon, okay, Bones? Don't go reconstructing poor Freddy's facial architecture. It kind of defeats the purpose of the evening."

"I'll attempt to keep my critiques to myself until after the movie."

"Great. Thanks, Bones. Now, upon leaving Elm Street, we'll investigate a case of serious insurance fraud, coupled with a dead guy who has an apparent Lazarus complex, before seguing into the alternate realities of a galaxy far, far away, where men occasionally have pointy ears, FBI partners pursue shadowy conspiracy theories, and ladies consort with robots, while wearing insanely hot leather bikinis."

"Sounds … interesting. Particularly the part about the unusual anatomical featuring. Is there a genetic component to the trait?"

"Believe me, Bones, it is genetic. And interesting," Booth rubbed his hands with glee. "Very interesting. After our little trip into outer space, we'll wander down New Orleans memory lane on a Streetcar."

"I sincerely doubt you'll locate any such outmoded forms of transportation, even in a town this small."

"It's all good, Bones," he chortled. "Believe me. And, depending on how long we're stuck in this joint, the list is just getting started."

She emerged with a steaming bag of popcorn and looked at him quizzically. "Where would you like me to sit?"

He patted the spot beside him. "Right next to me, baby."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Although youth does play a large factor in selecting a mate, I don't understand men's insistence on infantilizing women through the use of such endearments."

"Come on, Bones, before the popcorn gets cold," he pleaded. "Cold popcorn is as bad as no popcorn at all."

She grumpily slid in next to him and he turned on the patented Booth charm offensive. "Nice, isn't this?" He squeezed her waist suggestively. "You. Me. Popcorn. A movie."

"And poison ivy."

"You're a tough sell, Bones." Booth sighed, turning off the bedside lamp and hitting the play button.

"Why are we sitting in the dark?"

"Because it's a horror movie," he stage-whispered. "You know … scary mood, kind of thing? Now, shhh. It's starting."

She managed to sit silently through the entire opening sequence, up until the point where the slashes on Tina's nightgown were revealed.

"Interesting. Her dream has seemingly crossed over into reality. Traditionally, dreams played an important role in preliterate societies. Leaders utilized them as a vessel for translating messages that couldn't be contradicted, as only one person had experienced the communication. This resulted in an apparent endowment of powers from the supposed supernatural, which translated directly into position society."

"Bones …"

"I'm merely commenting that it's an interesting concept to base a movie on."

If he'd harbored any subconscious hopes that Brennan would have a typical female reaction to the movie—gasping, screaming, or, heaven forbid, even snuggling up against him for comfort—that cautious optimism quickly got the boot as the movie progressed.

"_Claws were used in early tribal societies as an expression of both evil and strength. Fusing them with human hands gives rise to a metaphorical construct that plays upon primal fears naturally embedded in us as human beings." _

"_Is Freddy meant to have been a burn victim? If so, the makeup artist should have done much better research on how, exactly, flesh melts when exposed to a high-powered flame."_

"_Your comparison of your own present condition to Freddy's was unjustified, Booth. Your rash is nowhere near as unpleasant to contemplate as the antagonist's. And, your own condition will resolve, unlike Freddy's."_

"_The effectiveness of caffeine in keeping Nancy awake will eventually diminish as her system builds up a tolerance to the stimulant." _

"_The hyoid would not have snapped if Rod had, in actuality, been hung in such a manner. Weight would have been required in order to fracture the bone."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As the credits scrolled, Booth snapped on the light and contemplated his partner.

"I enjoyed the movie, Booth," she said enthusiastically, oblivious to his amusement. "It was an interesting layering of mythology and—"

He silenced her by covering her mouth with his hand and pressing his lips to it. When he pulled back and removed his hand, she regarded him with a bemused look.

"What was that for?"

"Anybody else doing that would have annoyed the hell out of me," he admitted ruefully.

A chagrined look replaced the bemusement. "I talked too much, didn't I."

"Nah, Bones." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, smoothing away the slight lines of worry.

A small smile touched the corner of her lips. "Booth, I appreciate the way you accept me. Poison ivy blisters, warts and all."

"Check out the squint using a metaphor correctly!" He high-fived her. "But it wasn't warty, actually. More like kind of sexy, for some reason. Even if I didn't understand half of what you were saying."

She leaned forward, covered her mouth with her hand, pressed her lips to it, then sat back grinning. "I believe the experiment has been successful so far, Booth."

"Oh, yeah, baby," he drawled darkly. "Completely."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Weekend at Bernie's_drew a similar running commentary,

"_Had Bernie really overdosed on heroin, there would have been a great deal of concrete physical and chemical evidence available to a coroner. I find it hard to believe that his death is simply accepted without question."_

as did _Episode IV: A New Hope_,

"_Has Hodgins seen this? I believe he would find Jabba the Hut's cross-species entomology interesting. The botanical specimens on Yoda's planet would likely also interest him."_

"_I find Luke's amateur attempts at swordfighting interesting from a kinesiological perspective."_

"_The movie is a construct of various archetypes—helpless damsel in distress; courageous young hero; older mentor figure apporting wisdom—however the robots fall somewhere outside this scheme."_

"_I fail to see why a society with such advanced technology would not program R2-D2 in such a manner that he could communicate via standard English, rather than through potentially misunderstood beeps."_

If they had been new movies, Booth might have complained. Or, possibly, not. That was an experiment he'd try at some point in the future, preferably seated at the back of the movie theater where they could make a quick exit if the audience decided to attack them with pitchforks. In the meantime, Booth sat back and proceeded to enjoy his partner's enthusiasm more than the films he'd seen so many times. It got to the point where he even joined in the conversation, dissecting the nuances of the film under the microscope of Brennan's endlessly inquisitive mind.

When they watched several episodes of _The X-Files_, he thought Brennan was going to bounce off the bed in her excitement at the parallels to their own relationship.

"_Now I know what you meant when you said we were Mulder and Scully! Except that you're much more aesthetically pleasing than Mulder. And Hodgins is more of the conspiracy theorist. And I'm more intelligent than Scully."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They paused the marathon after approximately 9 hours, in order to re-calamine each other and eat leftovers from lunch. The blisters on Booth's arms and back had all but stopped itching and were now growing persistently more painful. He kept quiet, refusing to ruin their date.

"It's 4:00 a.m., Booth," Brennan pointed out with a yawn when he finished covering her legs in pink goop. "Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Do you?"

"No."

"Me neither."

They traded twitter pated smiles and curled back up beside one another, Brennan's auburn head resting comfortably on Booth's lotion-covered chest. By this point, a little more calamine in her hair wasn't going to detract much from her appearance.

"So, what's next?"

"This, Bones, is where you find out what a Vulcan is."

While Booth was no Trekkie himself, Jarred was, and he'd been lectured more than his fair share on how misunderstood the alien was. So he'd thought carefully about how to go about introducing Brennan to Spock. Even if she frequently came across as cold and logical to the extreme, Booth wanted to make sure Brennan understood that he saw the many other layers to her, even if other people didn't.

They'd watched three episodes of the original series before the dreaded question finally emerged.

"Booth, is that how people see me?" The hurt in her voice was like a knife to Booth's chest.

"Only people who don't know you, Bones," he reassured her. "It gets better, I promise."

She went quiet as they made their way through Spock's evolution as a character, from strictly logical and unfeeling to eventually acknowledging the existence, and importance, of his human side.

Booth eventually paused the show to check on her. "You okay, Bones?"

"I'm fine."

"I just don't want you to get the idea that I think you're this cold, calloused alien who bleeds green. Red's bad enough, but can you imagine cadavers oozing something that looks like seaweed all over the floor of the Jeffersonian?" His attempt at humor fell flatter than a pancake.

"I'd like to continue watching, please," she requested tersely.

He persuaded her to at least switch from the series to _Star Trek II_, where she could see Spock's character more fully developed. Unfortunately, he didn't know the movie well enough to remember how things ended.

The character's death of radiation poisoning had never meant much to Booth before. A movie was a movie, meant to be enjoyed for its face value, and he didn't like psychoanalyzing things anymore than Brennan did. But there was suddenly no way to avoid drawing parallels between his partner and the highly intelligent, stoic, perpetually misunderstood alien, all alone by choice in that contaminated engine room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When the last chords of the theme song died away, Booth snapped the laptop shut and turned to his silent partner.

"Bones …" He sat up in alarm at the glint of moisture on her cheeks. The scientist rarely shed tears over anything. "God, Bones. I didn't realize you'd take it quite so personally. I'm sorry. "

She paid no attention to his arms around her or his attempts to wipe the tears from her face.

"Booth, you have performed the equivalent of Spock's sacrifice on multiple occasions for me, as well as for others in your care."

"Like I said before, Bones, it's an "I-would-die-for-you" kind of partnership."

"Booth." She struggled away from his tight embrace and pinned him with her clear, determined gaze. "You love me."

There was a question halfway hidden in that statement. In spite of everything they'd been through together, he realized he'd never actually said the words to her.

"Yeah, Bones. I do love you." Somehow he'd imagined his eventual declaration of love would be more … elaborate.

"And he loved them."

"Who loved who?" Booth asked in bewilderment.

"Spock's crewmates. They became his friends … and he loved them. He died all alone. For them."

Okay, not exactly how'd he foreseen _this _conversation going.

"It's a movie, Bones. You're not a Vulcan, no matter what any asshole at Nora's Café might say. You're not going to die alone."

"It's not about him dying, Booth," she insisted. "It's about him learning to love something besides science and logic."

The penny began to drop inside his head, albeit slowly.

"The character may not exist in real life," Brennan continued, "And perhaps the connection I feel to him is irrational, but I believe there is a lesson to be learned from the movie anyway." She paused, eyes shining with a mixture of tears and exhilaration. "I can also learn to love openly."

It was enough to make a tough FBI guy cry.

"Ah, Bones." He scrubbed at his face in desperation and ruptured multiple blisters in the process. The sting helped get Booth's emotions under control, but his voice was still suspiciously hoarse when he spoke again. "Of course you can learn. You already_ do_ love openly more than you know. Just don't go proving it by dying, okay?"

"I'll do my best to stay alive," she promised with a watery smile, "If you do the same."

With Booth's rules still in effect until the 3rd week of dating, they had to seal the agreement with a firm handshake, instead of the passionate kiss both of them were imagining.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Thanks to everybody who keeps reading and reviewing! This was the hardest chapter to write so far, so specific feedback on whether or not I got it right would be much appreciated. There's a little bit more left to come for this 3****rd**** date, so no song reference yet.**


	16. The secondary infection in the FBI Agent

**Thanks to the many reviews yesterday. 15 was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write and all your kind words really made my day. I promise, the 4****th**** date (starting the second week of the experiment) is on its way very soon, probably by tomorrow. But first, we need to clear up this case of poison ivy. So in this short installment, Brennan plays doctor … (Booth is considerably OOC, but fever will do that to a usually straitlaced guy.) Reviews will help speed the arrival of that 4****th**** date … :)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth woke slowly, which was unusual in itself. A fog seemed to linger over his head, one that he couldn't quite shake. Reaching for Brennan automatically, he discovered her place beside his was vacant. Trying not to turn his head too much on the pillow, he scanned the room. The curtains of the room were drawn, but enough light filtered in for him to locate her sitting against a wall, the computer in her lap.

"Bones, what time is it?"

"About 3:30 p.m." She glanced up and smiled slightly. "Given that we didn't stop watching movies until 7:00 a.m, your fatigue is understandable. I called Cam and, though she was less than pleased, she promised to contact Cullen and explain matters. You're off duty until Monday. Go back to sleep."

"Come back to bed," he countered. "I sleep better with you close by."

"I _am _close by, Booth, and you were sleeping fine just a moment ago without me being in the bed. My circadian rhythms require some kind of stability. I slept until noon, and that will prove sufficient to see me through the rest of today."

"You're not watching more _Star Trek_ are you?"

Her reaction the previous night had been as touching as it was alarming. Brennan in tears because of a character onscreen was an image Booth had yet to process fully.

"No. It's a movie Angela recommend some time ago. _Say Anything._"

"Chick flicks," Booth muttered dismissively. "Why don't I pull something up from my list instead?" He sat up and groaned at the unexpected chain reaction of pain that sped through his body from head to toe.

Brennan looked up in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I feel like an 18 wheeler ran over me," he admitted, struggling to stay upright on surprisingly shaky forearms.

She put the computer aside and unfolded herself from the floor. A moment later her cool hand was on his forehead. He sighed and relaxed back against the pillows, attempting to drag her with him.

"We don't match anymore," he said sadly, indicating her oatmeal-covered skin.

Brennan wasn't having any of it. She batted his hands away and put on a squint face.

"Booth, your body temperature is unusually high."

"That's what happens whenever you're around me, baby." His teasing words were slurred, even to his ears.

Brennan snapped on the bedside light, ignoring Booth's protests, and pulled back the sheets. She ran her eyes across him clinically, not giving off a hint of the heat they'd both definitely been feeling yesterday. In spite of the anvil resting squarely on the back of his neck, he had to attempt some kind of atypical raunchy humor in order to avoid feeling like a lab specimen.

"See anything you like, Bones?"

In response, she touched one of the blisters on his thighs and he about jumped out of his skin—and not in a good way.

"No, actually, I don't. Booth, these vesicles aren't filled with fluid anymore."

"At least they're not itchy."

She skimmed her palms over his arms and chest. Booth clenched his teeth and struggled not to curse. Careful as she was being, it felt like she was dragging her nails over him instead of her fingertips.

Worry creased her forehead. "They're filled with pus instead."

_Uh oh._

"I believe you've contracted a secondary infection, likely staphylococcal or streptococcal, resulting from cross-contamination of bacteria under your fingernails with the open wounds."

"I'm assuming that isn't good," he hedged.

"Definitely not. You need to see a doctor."

"I'm seeing one already. She's really pretty."

_Geez. Later on he was going to look back at all the lame jokes and cringe. Right now the entire world was a little fuzzy at the edges._

"I'm serious, Booth," she insisted. "You need antibiotics."

"No doctors." He could be just as stubborn as his female counterpart. "Bones, I'm fine. So I've got a little fever. Big deal. Some Tylenol will take care of it."

"I'm not arguing the point with you, Booth." Brennan was in serious squint mode by this stage. She hopped off the bed and headed for the computer. "I'll locate a physician and drive you to see him."

"Bones, any doctor all the way out here is probably more used to treating cows and chickens than human beings."

It was like he hadn't said a word. She was already typing determinedly.

With an effort, Booth kicked away the remaining covers and sat up. "I'm not going to a doctor, Bones."

"Lie back down," Brennan ordered, flipping open her cellphone.

"I'm fine." He stood, wobbling slightly. "See?"

She jumped up from the floor and rushed over to him, phone still glued to her ear. Talking a mile a minute to the operator, she grabbed his elbow and guided him back to the bed. He sank back into the pillows, admittedly glad not to feel the world spinning. Brennan snapped a few more words at the operator and closed her phone.

"If it were me, you'd be carrying me to the car in spite of my protests," she pointed out. "Let me take care of you for a change, Booth. Please."

He was too tired to argue, and those concerned baby blues capped it.

"Okay, Bones," he conceded. "It's not like I haven't fantasized about us playing doctor …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next couple days blurred into each other. Daze Hawthorne's revenge progressed into a fever of 102, with oozing, weeping blisters that made Booth looking like Frankenstein's dying twin. His arms and legs swelled to the size of small tree trunks. While he never actually lost consciousness, Booth hovered on the edge of a dangerously tilting planet, clinging to Brennan to keep him afloat.

From somewhere, the scientist procured a doctor who actually made home visits. Then, deciding she didn't like his bedside manner or scientific cred, she found another guy from somewhere farther up the river and dragged him out to see Booth. This one insisted on moving Booth to a hospital, in spite of all his protests.

On the 45 minute ambulance ride—a little extreme, if you asked Booth, which nobody did, but legally necessary to cover the doctor's ass, apparently—Brennan rode with him, badgering the EMTs with endless questions. They were probably grateful to finally unload him on the neighboring county ER's doorstep.

She ensured he got a private room with a TV and shooed away visitors except for Parker and Rebecca. Cam, Sweets and Cullen weren't told of the change in Booth's location, just in case they reminded him of work that wasn't being accomplished and caused him to check out of the hospital AMA (Against Medical Advice.) The nurses mostly avoided Booth's room, in fear of the auburn-haired woman who lurked within it, waiting to pounce with questions in a foreign language.

Loaded up with antibiotics and pain medication, all Booth remembered much of later were Parker's questions and Brennan's kind reassurances—in actual English—that his daddy was going to be fine. He had vague memories of her gentle hands applying cool compresses, helping him sit up to take more medicine, laying him back down, feeding him bites of pie procured from somewhere outside the hospital, and reading aloud from sports magazines when he was coherent enough to feel stir crazy.

At some point, Booth began to get the feeling that his partner was actually enjoying her newfound maternal instincts. He drew the line at having her bathe him, however. Sick as he might have been, being naked in a shower with her was a potential shortcut to week 6 that he wasn't willing to take. So she fussed and fumed while the nurses did what she clearly considered her job, and then curled up next to him on the bed and spouted torrents of well-reasoned squint at anybody who suggested she was breaking the rules.

When, after a rare break, she showed up in his room wearing a vintage "I am Spock" t-shirt that would've had Hodgins in stitches—where the hell did she find it, anyway, in the middle of Podunk Nowhere?—it finally occurred to Booth that this was Brennan doing her best to show, non-verbally, that she loved him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: I beg your readerly indulgences and ask you to ignore my geographical foibles, please. I'm aware the outskirts of DC aren't rural. (I commuted there from New York for several years.) Nor does Idlewild and its "neighboring county" actually exist. However, in the eyes of city folks such as Booth and Brennan, it was frequently made clear to me that anywhere that's not city central might just as well include Old Farmer McGregor, along with roosters and hens. :)**


	17. Squee!

**A/N: I've had multiple requests to include other members of the team in the story, and I always appreciate feedback. So this is my bow to suggestion. However, I'll warn you, I don't have the practice with Angela's voice that I do with Booth and Brennan. I'll admit, this date doesn't advance the relationship one iota, and is basically a recap of the last 15 chapters. However, a girl's gotta share with her best friend, right? 4****th**** date will be the next chapter I PROMISE.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Sweetie!"_

Angela's exuberant greeting rang through the sterile corridors of the Medico-Legal lab, causing multiple interns to smile in relief. Montenegro was back, meaning Brennan would most likely relax a smidgen and maybe even stop riding them so hard. These, of course, were newbies still naïve to the ways of the Jeffersonian's star forensic anthropologist.

The artist bounced into Brennan's office grinning ear to ear, arms wide open. Her best friend stood and greeted her with a smile and a hug equal in warmth, if not in size.

"How are you?" Angela demanded, as though she and Brennan hadn't talked almost every day that Booth was in the hospital. "And _what_ are you wearing?" She plucked at Brennan's vintage tee curiously. The interns had had a field day when she'd walked into the Jeffersonian decked out as a partial Trekkie.

"I'll explain the shirt later. And I'm good." Brennan deliberately deflected the question, uninterested in discussing her own bout with contact dermatitis. "You look great!" She indicated Angela's tanned skin, sun-streaked hair and the Polynesian-motifed henna tattoos on both forearms. "I take it Tahiti lived up to your expectations."

Angela sighed headily. "Orchid-strewn forests, white sands and moonlit beaches, kayaking at sunset and making love in a dinky little hotel in the middle of monsoon season while the rain crashes on the flimsy roof overhead and you wonder if that's how it's all gonna end … but what a way to go if it did! You gotta try it, Bren. This place—" she indicated the lab, "Just doesn't cut it when it comes to real living."

"Are you sorry to be back home?"

"Nah. Even paradise can get old eventually, believe it or not, especially when it comes with bugs the size of dinner plates. Plus, I missed you," Angela admitted ruefully. "And Agent Sexy."

Brennan couldn't hold back. She knew that societal protocol dictated that she should ask for further details on her friend's vacation, and she _was _interested. But she'd been keeping this one secret from her best friend for far too long.

"Angela …"

Montenegro's attention was immediately captured by Brennan's uncharacteristically shy tone.

"What?" The artist's romantic radar was fabled and impeccable. "This has something to do with that fight you had with Booth, doesn't it. Did you finally tell him? Oh my God-spill the beans already, Bren!"

Brennan smiled bashfully. "Booth and I have recently begun dating."

Angela's shrieks caused several security guards to come running, only to depart quickly as they encountered a scene filled with enough estrogen to macerate a skull.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The diner's staff and customers were long-accustomed to the eccentricities of its Jeffersonian and FBI clientele, so it was the perfect spot for Angela to shriek and squee as Brennan spilled the details of her experiment.

"Oh my God," Angela moaned rapturously, "Six weeks? _Six weeks?"_

"I agree that it is an absurd, arbitrary amount of time, designed only to—"

"Arbitrary?" Angela interrupted. "No, sweetie. No. You've kept the guy waiting 5 years. He's just dishing up a little tit for tat. Turnabout's fair play. And the six weeks follow the six stages, remember? One, spend the night. Two, spend the weekend. Three, exchange keys. Four, sexy weekend getaway. Five, extended vacation, inevitably followed by six—move in together."

"I haven't kept him waiting," argued Brennan. "Our decision to avoid a romantic relationship was mutually agreed upon from the very beginning."

"Yeah … Keep telling yourself that, sweetie."

"And our dates have not followed the pattern you're describing. You actually think Booth is expecting me to move in with him at the culmination of the experiment?"

"In a manner of speaking …" Angela trailed off at the puzzlement on her best friend's face. She patted the scientist's hand comfortingly. "Never mind, sweetie. It'll all make sense soon." She leaned back in anticipation. "Now, tell me about your dates."

"He took me tandem sky diving on our first date," Brennan offered, a little shyly. "At night. He said it was a metaphor for my fear of falling, although I still don't know exactly what that means."

There were more raptures on Angela's end, to the extent that even a few well-inured customers glanced over to see what all the fuss was about.

"God, sweetie, you have _got_ to grab onto this guy and hold on tight," Angela said firmly after she'd downed half a glass of ice water. "Jack's romantic, but nighttime skydiving?" She fanned her face dramatically. "Go on. Don't keep me hanging."

"On the next date, he blindfolded me and walked me through a park. I'm uncertain of the exact location, but we spent the evening on a swing. He said it was an exercise in feeling. I will admit, I found the experience very stimulating, particularly when he removed the blindfold at the exact moment the sun was rising."

"Oh, _Bren_." Angela's eyes teared up and she squeezed her best friend's hand again. "Moon rise … sun rise … they're metaphors for what lies ahead for your relationship, after all the dark valleys you guys have scavenged. I'm so happy for you.

"If the dates are metaphors for our relationship, then what do poison ivy and a movie marathon represent?" Brennan inquired dryly, stirring her ice tea.

Angela brushed away Brennan's logic like a pesky fly. "You two are just so perfect together, Bren. What else did I miss in Tahiti?"

"At the end of each date, Booth has been giving me one of these." Brennan extracted one of the slips of paper from her pocket and handed it over. "I don't fully understand their meaning. He said something about a virtual daisy."

Angela scanned the paper and squeed all over again. "It's a musical valentine, Bren."

"What does that mean?"

"Instead of opting for tried-and-true flowers, he decided to be way more romantic. These aren't songs Booth would probably listen to on a regular basis. They're too mushy and he's a guy's guy. Plus, they don't really seem like his type of music. If he's giving you one after each date, that means he's doing his research and trying to correlate the music to the date or how he's feeling when he's with you."

Booth chose that exact moment to walk into the diner. When he spotted Angela and Brennan, he almost turned around and walked right back out again. The artist was a warm, talented human being whom Booth had endless admiration for, but the look on her face warned him that he was about to be hug-tackled in a very public place.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	18. Date 4

**A/N: Here it is at last … Date #4—and the beginning of the experiment's second week. I wrote fast and furiously to get this finished and didn't edit nearly as much as I usually do. If it's rough or there are a few details that don't line up, I apologize. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth showed up at the lab around 11:00 pm, having spent the majority of the last three days in hell. Cullen was giving him the silent treatment, clearly not convinced that a virulent rash covering one quarter of his body which had contributed to pulmonary edema was any reason to be out of the office for almost two weeks. His coworkers were razzing him about his time shacked up in the hotel with Brennan—although none of them had thought to drop in and check on his health, it seemed. They insisted this was because they didn't want to interrupt all the hot sex they were sure he was having. Rebecca was steamed because his hospitalization had ruined her plans for going out of town. Never mind that he'd missed the precious every-other weekend he got to spend with his little boy. And then there was all the paperwork that had somehow proliferated like horny rabbits in his absence …

His week got way better as he entered the Jeffersonian and made his way to the isolation room, where he watched his partner through the window for a while, kitted out in a squint spacesuit as she meticulously worked over the cadaver that had infected them. The thought of being anywhere near Hawthorne's body made Booth reflexively scratch the few remaining poison ivy blisters he had on his forearms. Still, this promised to be the last they'd see of the remains.

Angela had provided a critical clue to the murder within hours of her returning. Urushi, a derivative of urushiol, was apparently used in Japanese artwork known as _urushi-e._ Coupled with the resin-covered fibers that Hodgins confirmed were hemp rope likely utilized in a Japanese bondage session, all the evidence pointed straight at Hawthorne's Japanophile wife, who also stood to collect a substantial life insurance policy after her husband's death. So Brennan's work this evening was mainly tying up loose ends.

He watched her for a while longer, then knocked on the window. Brennan glanced up and smiled through the visor.

"You make one sexy Imperial Stormtrooper," Booth called.

"I know that one!" she beamed. "Easy to see due to the distinctive white of their costume, with a restricted range of motion and vision, and yet they somehow still served as the primary tool in putting down revolts and establishing imperial authority."

Leave it to Brennan to take George Lucas' vision apart at the seams.

She motioned at the decontamination room and Booth nodded, retreating to the lobby until she appeared 20 minutes later, thoroughly scrubbed and de-poison ivied. He didn't fail to note, however, that she was wearing typical lab clothes, ubiquitous buttoned-up coat included. Not exactly what you'd wear on a date.

She started in almost immediately with the excuses. "Booth, we've both been on sick leave for several weeks. I realize how much effort you've expended with these dates, and I've admittedly enjoyed the results of our experiment thus far, but I have a lot of work to catch up on. Spending another night away will put me even farther behind. I realize that this was supposed to be the first date of our second week, but would it offend you if I requested a rainchecker?"

"Raincheck, Bones," he corrected. "No, I'm not offended. I've got more than enough catching up to do myself. So our date isn't very far away this time."

Her expression tightened with worry. It was so obvious she really didn't want to leave the lab, but was afraid of upsetting him.

"Booth—"

"I promise it'll take an hour, tops, and then you can get back to dissecting dead bodies." He smiled charmingly, although the move didn't usually work with her. "After all, you need to at least eat, right?"

Brennan glanced in the direction of the platform and back at him. "One hour?"

"No more, no less," he promised. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Why would you—"

"Never mind, Bones," he interrupted. "Clock's ticking, so close your eyes, just for a minute."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Brennan followed Booth's lead blindly, allowing him to guide her along corridors that were more familiar to her than the dimensions of her own apartment. So when he stopped and told her to take off her shoes, she knew exactly where they were and was baffled.

"Why am I taking my shoes off to enter Angela's office?" she demanded, keeping her eyes closed nonetheless as she stood first on foot, then on the other, to pull off her boots.

"Take two steps forward, Bones," Booth said in her ear.

He didn't tell her to look yet, but when she took the requisite steps the effect on her bare feet was so immediately startling that her eyes flew open of their own accord.

Angela's office was suddenly devoid of furniture save for the paintings on the wall. In its place was a wide open space covered by a thick carpet of grass, definitely real if you judged by the texture of the blades and they way they threaded their way between Brennan's toes, mingled with wildflowers of multiple sizes and color. A small stained-glass lamp was the only illumination in the room. It cast its soft, multicolored glow on the center of the makeshift meadow, where a blue blanket was laid out along with a wicker basket, a CD player and a bucket of champagne

Rarely did the scientist find herself speechless, but this was certainly one such occasion. She turned to Booth, mouth agape.

"Angela helped me," he explained. "We knew once you were in the isolation room that you'd be there for several hours, so that's when Hodgins helped us move the furniture into his own office. Cam agreed to turn a blind eye, since it was all in the name of getting your work back on track. Plus, Angela threatened to go straight back to Tahiti unless Cam cooperated."

Still, Brennan grasped for words to express her astonishment.

"It's this stuff called 'Roll Out Grass and Flowers' that you just roll out and water. Usually it takes six weeks to grow, but the guy who owns the flower shop had an already sprouting sample that he agreed to sell."

Finally, words managed to bypass the emotional knot lodged in Brennan's throat.

"You knew."

"What? That you wouldn't want to leave the office after being away for so long?" Booth laughed. "Give me a little more credit than that, Bones. So I brought the picnic I originally planned here instead. It's supposed to look like the fields we walked through on our second date."

"You knew," she repeated, aware of how shaky her voice sounded.

"Yes, I did," he said patiently. "The food's getting cold and we have a time limit. Any chance we can get started eating?"

Even Brennan could conjure a few metaphorical meanings for a date that involved Booth going out and purchasing an entire meadow, just so she wouldn't miss an evening he knew her work ethic would require her to postpone.

"Bones?" Booth's voice was suddenly strained with worry. As though he thought she might not like it. How could he possibly think that she wouldn't like it?

"I want to kiss you." The confession tumbled from Brennan unbidden and she wasn't sorry.

A relieved smile tugged at the corners of Booth's lips and he rubbed a thumbnail under their sensual lower curve. "We're not at that part of the experiment quite yet, Bones."

Brennan had tasted those lips before and very much wanted to taste them again, in the context of their new relationship. She could easily have initiated the physical contact without verbal preliminaries, but was still held back by fears of being rejected.

"Will you settle for dancing with me instead?" he asked.

"You know I don't dance very well, Booth."

"That's because you overthink things." He stepped over to the CD player and pressed play. Brennan noticed that he was also barefooted.

"What about the food getting cold?"

"We'll survive, I think." He returned to her side. "Don't think about moving, Bones," he said as the music began to play softly. "Just let go. Let go and be here with me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The man was what Angela would have called—what Angela _had _called—mouth-wateringly gorgeous, from his beautiful facial structure to the broad, muscular frame encased in its tailor-made suit.

Booth opened his arms and Brennan stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she followed his lead, winding her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder. She let out a sigh, suddenly, unaccountably tired and grateful to be enveloped by her partner's solid strength.

"You okay?"

"Just tired. Hold me, please?"

"All night if you'll let me." He drew her in closer still, closing the small gap remaining between their bodies.

She closed her eyes as the music drifted over them, mingled with the fragrance of damp grass and flowers in Angela's office.

"Booth …"

"Bones."

"I don't believe in magic, but this would be pretty close to the concept, I imagine."

His low chuckle vibrated through her chest. "Glad you like it, Bones. This is Foreigner singing, by the way."

"Hot-Blooded?"

"One and the same."

_I've been waiting, for a girl like you, to come into my life …_

For once, she didn't lead, not even by accident. She tried hard to stop thinking and let herself be carried by Booth's smooth, steady movements as they swayed in place. As the song drew to a close, she began to prepare herself mentally for the loss of physical contact. But Booth continued to sway with her unhurriedly, until she relaxed back into him, grateful for the reprieve.

The unfamiliar lyrics of a new song began, this one with a slightly more modern beat. The song was something about children laughing and skipping stones, sunsets, moonrises …

_We listened to papa's translations of the stories across the sky,  
We drew our own constellations._

The light went out in the room abruptly and Brennan would've pulled back to go investigate the source of the power outage, but Booth kept hold of her tightly.

"Keep dancing. And look up, Bones," he murmured in her ear.

She did as he asked, glancing up at the ceiling in confusion, only to find entire constellations of glow-in-the-dark stars glinting down at them. For the second time that evening, she was rendered speechless.

"Those were supposed to be dessert after our picnic," Booth admitted sheepishly. "Angela set the lights up on a timer. We were going to lie on the grass and look up at the stars, so you could tell me all their names. Hope you don't mind doing things a little out of order."

It seemed suddenly like everything she'd done the last five years was out of order. The notion that she'd kept this man waiting for so long—because that was the truth, she had to admit—and that he still cared enough to do this for her …

"Don't cry, Bones." Booth's voice was tender as he took her face in his hands and kissed away the moisture on her cheeks and eyelids, staying clear of her lips.

She was lost in the glint of his dark, beautiful eyes. "Booth …"

"What, baby?"

For once, she didn't challenge the endearment.

"You love me."

"Like crazy."

"_Why?"_ Her voice cracked slightly in panic. "I'm not capable of loving you back this way."

He gently drew his fingers through her hair, lingering at the nape of her neck. "I don't want you to love me this way, Bones. I want you to love me your own way. Just like you did staying with me in that hospital room and defending me from over-eager nurses even though you were itching to get back to the lab. Maybe I moved too fast with this date. I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" Panic ratcheted up another notch.

His voice was patient. "I'm not a rich guy, and I'm never gonna be. I have to get creative with these dates, since I can't give you fancy jewelry or expensive vacations or five star dinners–"

"If I wanted any of that," she interrupted, "I could purchase it myself."

He sighed. "A guy wants to give his girl the best, Bones."

"Booth, this _is _the best!" She was beside herself at the thought that he believed his lack of financial status could possibly have any kind of impact on how she viewed his dates. "Everything—skydiving, the blind date, the movies, _this_—it's all amazing. I don't deserve any of it. It's too much."

"It's not about deserving, Bones, even though you do deserve this and so much more than I can ever give you. I told you before, you're everything, all at once, forever."

"I still don't know what that means!"

"Listen to the next song, then. Joe Cocker says it better than I ever could. Then we'll eat and you can go get back to work."

He tugged her back against him gently but firmly. "I love you. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, inside and out." He lowered his chin to her head and rested it lightly on her hair. "This isn't a contest about who loves who the best." His big hands stroked wide, deep circles across her trapezius, easing away the tension that threatened to give her a headache. "Exactly the way you are is how I want you to stay. That isn't going to change, Bones. I'm asking you to trust me enough to take two steps forward with me."

The lyrics of the carefully chosen song made Brennan tear up all over again. So much crying was utterly uncharacteristic, but it suddenly didn't matter. Deep inside her, something long frozen was beginning to thaw.

_You are so beautiful to me …_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela stopped at the door of her office and put her hand over her mouth. "Jack," she hissed frantically. "Get over here!"

Her husband stuck his head in from the adjoining workspace, still filled with Angela's office furnishings, and whistled softly.

"Wow. Totally unexpected."

"To you, maybe," Angela scoffed, wiping her teary eyes on Hodgins' shirt sleeve. "Did you really think she'd go back to work after _this_?"

Hodgins had the distinctly unpleasant impression that a romantic gauntlet had suddenly been cast at his feet.

Booth and Brennan were sound asleep on the grass, partially covered by the blanket. She was wearing his jacket for some reason and there was an evening primrose tucked behind her ear. The FBI Agent's arms were wrapped around his partner's waist protectively and her head was pillowed peacefully on his expansive chest. The CD player, probably set on 'repeat', was playing _Kiss From a Rose._

**Post-narrative A/N: Major thanks to AdoAnnie, who provided the inspiration for the song **_**Constellations**_**. I know we're not supposed to use lyrics on the site, but I just couldn't figure out how to write this chapter any another way. Hopefully that won't get me in trouble. Reviews will urge me on to greater things for Date # 5 ….**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, and I definitely don't own the songs by Foreigner, Jack Johnson, Joe Cocker or Seal.**


	19. Lessons in linguistics

**A/N: Thanks a million for all the nice comments on the last chapters. Readers truly are my impetus for continuing to write. I just don't see the point in writing something if somebody isn't going to read and enjoy (or at least debate) it! (Yes, I know Mark Twain disagrees with me.) The 5****th**** date is on its way … in the interim, we have some truth-telling to contend with, as well as the reappearance of a most unwelcome character. (Unwelcome in my eyes, anyway. Things I'd like to say to this character include: **_**Boo. Hiss! **_**and **_**Keep your hands in the air and step away from the FBI Agent …)**_

**PS: If you're frustrated in the delayed arrival of the next dates—and Brennan's surprisingly good master of the two-step-Tango (one step forward, two steps back, two steps forward, one step back)—can you imagine how Booth feels?**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

There were reasons he'd insisted on at least 3 weeks before that first kiss. Brennan began to shut down on him the very next day, that intractable fear taking hold tightly and dragging her from his embrace the minute they woke in Angela's office. Booth let her go like he always had, without recriminations, even though seeing her walk away made him feel like several tons of Zack's favorite flesh-eating beetles had been dumped over him.

At least he had one foot jammed firmly in the door of the relationship at this point. He prayed he could keep it open long enough to move things along a little farther. It didn't help matters any that the backload of work at both their jobs kept them from seeing each other for days on end, and when they did meet it was all too brief and case-related, without time for the usual drink afterwards to debrief.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was her lunch break. All employees were entitled to 1 hour of personal time and, while Brennan rarely used her hour for the designated purpose, today she had closed the door to her office and was attempting to write. She was having little luck with this, for a variety of reasons. Interns kept interrupting with inane questions they should have been able to resolve themselves with a more careful analysis of the evidence clearly laid out before them. Cam was in her face, wanting to know when the PowerPoint for the British Museum's Centre for Anthropology would be ready. Her publisher called repeatedly, inquiring about the next novel—the very one she was attempting to work on. Her own thoughts were holding her hostage, swinging back and forth between the chapter and her dates with Booth, much like Edgar Allan Poe's razor-sharp pendulum.

And then there was Angela, who had barged in a door with a clearly marked "Do Not Disturb Sign" and would not go away. For the last week she'd been after Brennan to drop by Booth's place and explain how she was feeling, to make an effort to do lunch with him, or, at the very least, send an email saying she was thinking of him during the work day. Now she stood in Brennan's office with her hands on her hips, no trace of her usual friendly smile. For a change, there was no 'sweetie' or other attempts to soften her words.

"I get that you're afraid, Brennan. We all know you've been burned the last couple of times you danced too close to the flame. But this—you opening up to Booth one minute and closing the next, like some kind of psychotic elevator door; making him chase after you like a dog on a lead—isn't acceptable anymore."

Brennan kept her eyes on the computer screen, unwilling to show her friend how much her words stung.

Impatience tinged Angela's voice. "He's shown you how far you can trust him. I mean, what else does he have to do? Empirically, all the evidence corroborates the fact that he is _not_ going to hurt you! I love you and all, Bren, and I know that somewhere, deep down inside, you want that happily ever after. But, frankly, there aren't that many guys who are going to be willing to put up with you longterm. They don't understand how special you are, because you cover that up with layers of science and ego. Booth _gets_ you. He loves you exactly the way you are, without asking you to make any big changes. And yet you're still dragging the guy's heart through mud puddles. You're being cruel. It's time to get over your past, get over yourself, and _move on_, Temperance."

It might have been the first time she'd ever heard Angela refer to her by her given name. She turned to say something—she wasn't sure what—and found the artist had already left the office without saying goodbye. She dragged her gaze back to the computer, only to find that all the words had blurred together.

Minimizing the novel, she opened the document where she was keeping the lyrics Booth had gifted her with after each date. Angela's comments on musical valentines made sense in the context of the latest offerings—_Poison Ivy_ and _Living In A Moment_. She wasn't familiar with either of the artists' catalogue of work and neither struck her as songs that Booth would listen to in his spare time. The former was an amusing ditty by a group from the 1950s known as The Coasters, the latter a country ballad by Ty Herndon. In spite of the overwrought, melodramatic emotion in the country song, Brennan had to admit to being touched by Booth's attempts to communicate his feelings in such a unique form.

She knew he was hurt by her backpedaling. Date #4 had overwhelmed her to the point where she needed some distance to process everything happening in her brain. She didn't know another way to sift through the chaos, other than to isolate herself. Usually, removing herself from the problematic situation temporarily allowed her the emotional distance necessary to assess the problem. That had not proved the case in this particular instance.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She reached for her coat without thinking through her next move. That was part of her problem, Booth kept telling her. Overthinking. In spite of his teasing. he accepted that part of her personality with good humor and kindness, as he did all her other eccentricities.

Her feet carried her out of the office, across the platform, down the stairs and through the main doors of the Jeffersonian. It wasn't until Brennan was two thirds of the way to her destination that she realized which direction her brain had automatically pointed.

She paused on the sidewalk opposite the Royal Diner, half glad and half dismayed to see Booth in their usual spot. He had a newspaper in front of him and the usual cup of coffee, but no slice of pie. Brennan frowned. Somehow, that small detail seemed significant, but she wasn't sure why.

Even though she still didn't know what she should say to him, she knew it would be irrational to walk away at this stage. The light turned green. As she stepped into the street, a vaguely familiar voice arrested her steps.

"Dr. Brennan!"

She swiveled and met the friendly smile of Catherine Klein. By societal standards, Brennan knew that the marine biologist was stereotypically pretty. Booth had found the woman attractive. Most men would. Her height of approximately 5'6 was proportionate to her weight of 140 pounds, while her features were both symmetrical and expertly made-up, complementing her pale complexion and striking blue eyes with a sheer wash of nudes, beiges and pale pinks. In the face of the evidence, it was strange that Brennan found the woman's appearance unpleasant. Objectively-speaking, she should be able to distance herself from Booth's former relationship with the woman and-

"Are you joining Seeley and I for lunch?" Catherine's cheerful question interrupted Brennan's thoughts.

"Booth and me."

Catherine blinked in confusion.

"_**I**_ is a pronoun that must be the subject of a verb. _**Me**_ is a pronoun that must be the object of the verb. It's a common error made by people who believe that using _**I **_unambiguously—without consideration for the syntactical structure of the sentence—sounds better than _**me. **_Your question should be phrased as _Are you joining Booth and me for lunch?_"

The marine biologist laughed good-naturedly. "I stand corrected. But I thought your degree was in anthropology, Dr. Brennan, not in linguistics. Did you earn another PhD while I wasn't looking?"

"It's not a linguistic matter. It's simple grammar that does not require a doctorate to be utilized correctly. Excuse me. Cam just called—something urgent has come up at the Jeffersonian that requires my attention." Brennan pushed past her brusquely.

"Nice seeing you again!" The chipper tone pursued Brennan all the way back to the office, where she submerged herself in work of the most important kind: giving names to those forgotten by society, while keeping her brain from going dangerous places.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	20. Any way you look at it,she ain't Brennan

**A/N: Yikes! I'm ducking flying rotten tomatoes here! I knew Catherine was unpopular, but the PMs hissing and spitting in my inbox are a testament to how much readers dislike her. I assure you, there's a carefully-planned purpose for (briefly) reintroducing her into all our lives. Like Booth keeps telling Brennan, I humbly ask that you **_**trust me **_**based on the empirical evidence of our shared history together … have I led you astray yet? ;-)**

**I really hadn't intended to publish anything else till tomorrow, but had to put this chapter out there after receiving 17 angry PMs in the space of 15 minutes. Hence the extremely short length of this offering. Now I'm off to bed, hoping my inbox will be slightly friendlier when I next revisit it …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Catherine laughed at his lame joke. Booth knew it was lame. He'd only told it because he wanted to test his theory. The marine biologist flunked the test. She was dishonest, at least when compared to Temperance Brennan. Brennan would have called him on the clunker immediately, first to ask what it meant, and then to point out that there was no real humor in the pun. But every now and then he told a joke that Bones got—and liked—on the first try, and then her laughter was sincere and flattering, unlike the loud, fake guffaw coming from the other side of the table.

He knew his lunch companion was just being kind. For better or worse, after spending so much time with the squints, Booth had come to see such socially appropriate kindness as a type of lying. He used it himself, of course, but nonetheless, Booth disliked the deceptiveness behind the well-intended gesture. And social consequences be damned, Brennan always told the truth, as viewed from her unique perspective.

Problematically, Catherine was having pie. She knew he liked apple, so that's what she'd ordered, even though Booth had no intention of having dessert. Or maybe that was unfair. It was possible she enjoyed the same flavors he did. But Booth also liked steak and fries, and there was Catherine, chowing down on a blood-red hunk of sirloin that would've made a dog queasy. Brennan would have had a comment or three to make about the environmental impact of the meal. Catherine clearly didn't think twice about what went into her mouth. Booth found he didn't like where that thought was going. He turned his attention to Catherine's appearance.

She was wearing a small ruby heart pendant, strung on a delicate silver chain. Plenty of other people wore necklaces just like it. Compared to Brennan's individualized pieces though, the necklace had all the personality of a mass-produced Hallmark card.

The woman wasn't bereft in the looks department. Her dark hair, blue eyes and svelte figure were pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way. That was just it-Brennan was to girl-next-door what Zack Addy was to Carl Decker's IQ of 163. So when Booth sat and contemplated the reasonably attractive woman across the table from him, she might as well have been dishwater compared to his partner. Brennan was in the upper ionosphere of beauty, versus the mere stratosphere that most mortal females might hope to achieve.

"Seeley?"

She called him by his first name. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He hadn't invited her to lunch on any kind of romantic pretense. Nevertheless, she was wrong. She was funny and sweet and superficially kind and everything most guys would like. But she wasn't Bones, and that was a big strike against her.

"Earth to Seeley?" Catherine insisted.

"Sorry," the FBI agent muttered sheepishly, unable to come up with an excuse for his rudeness.

"Like I said, I'll be happy to pull those strings for your date. Temperance is one lucky girl." Catherine smiled, sugary-sweet. "I have to admit that I'm sorry I didn't fight harder not to let you get away."

Brennan didn't like sugary-sweet. Booth didn't like being referred to as former aquarium fodder.

"I bumped into her outside. The woman is stunning, I have to admit. No way I could ever compete."

That jolted him back to reality. "Bumped into who?"

"Dr. Brennan, of course."

"You met Bones outside the diner? Today?"

"Yeah. I was walking in and she was heading the same direction. I asked her if you'd invited her to have lunch with us, but she said something about an urgent problem at the lab and split. Not before she gave me a good grammar lesson, though." Catherine laughed. "The woman's definitely unique. Do you know when to use **I** versus **me**?"

_Oh shit._

Booth grabbed his wallet and dug out several bills. "_**I**_ is a pronoun that must be the subject of a verb. _**Me**_ is a pronoun that must be the object of the verb. I've gotta run, Catherine. I'm sorry. I just realized I forgot a really important appointment. I'll call you later to finalize arrangements. Thanks again!"

Catherine watched in bemusement as Booth booked it toward the door.

"Are you ready for dessert, ma'am?" A waiter materialized tableside.

"Forget it. I don't like apple pie anyway," the marine biologist snapped, shoving her steak away. "And get this underdone piece of meat away from me. I'll be lucky if I don't catch salmonella or mad cow disease!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Okay, the ending was a little over the top. But have I atoned sufficiently for my sins in the previous chapter? R&R please …**


	21. Running

_**Slinking out of hiding and checking the corners for flying legumes**_** … Phew. Seems safe to proceed. My comment on enjoying lively debates on the subject of my writing must have brought cosmic karma to bear. Thanks for all the reviews yesterday, both good and bad. I enjoyed all of them. (Really.)**

**At the risk of incurring further vegetable volleys, I may not be able to update for the next day or two. We're already starting to have meetings about next school year, believe it or not, so I have to go in on Sunday (yes, Sunday) and Monday. Just in case I do drop out of sight for 48 hours, I wanted to leave you with something. Hopefully I'll be able to update again tonight. **

**I know this offering is short. Nevertheless, here it is …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He ran.

In spite of all the lectures about not jumping to conclusion, Booth knew full what scenario Brennan's genius brain had conjured the minute she'd put him, "lunch" and "Catherine" into the same timeframe. Age, sex and horizontal athletic propensities had been duly noted at the crime scene, and motive for the murder was ascribed due to overwhelming scientific evidence. Undoubtedly, Brennan was already closing the case, filing away the remains of the relationship in a backlit bone box for some future anthropologist to study under a microscope.

Booth sprinted toward the Jeffersonian, praying he could get there before she signed off on the paperwork. As he rounded the corner to the museum, his phone rang. He snatched at it impatiently, not breaking stride. "Yeah?"

The caller's words dragged the remaining breath from him. He pulled up short on the steps, the world turning a dark shade of red around him as oxygen-deprived corpuscles screamed for mercy. Everything went dim for a second, eclipsed by the whoosh of blood hammering in his ears. Then Booth's well-honed survival instincts dragged him back out from under the killer wave, his brain automatically flailing for some point of purchase.

"_What?_ When? Where?" Phone glued to his ear, he reversed course toward the SUV, his speed multiplying exponentially.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Her phone rang incessantly, until Brennan finally turned it off. She knew who was calling and had no interest in engaging him in discussion at the present moment. She would have argued that there was no malice intended, nor was there a connection to be made between the earlier incident and her refusal to answer. It was simply that she was making excellent progress on several identifications and required absolute concentration. She was feeling satisfied and relatively relaxed when Angela exploded into the bone room.

There was no other way to describe the artist's arrival, yanking Brennan physically away from the table she'd been working at and pinning the scientist against a wall. Brennan would have rendered any other such attacker instantly immobile. It was only her affection for Angela that kept her from reacting violently.

Angela's eyes were wide and red-rimmed. "Parker's sick, Brennan. He's just been hospitalized."

"What?" Brennan was suddenly grateful for the wall bracing her. "Why didn't Booth —"

Even as the thought was formulated, it died away. The calls she had refused to answer suddenly resonated in her ear loudly.

"He needed you, Brennan. You ignored him." Angela's words were like red-hot nails, forcing their way through Brennan's thick, oblivious brain into the vulnerable heart that Booth had always known existed even when she didn't. "He still needs you. That's why he called me, so I could make you listen. Your living, breathing partner needs you right now, at this very instant. His little boy is in the emergency room with some mystery disease. And you're hiding in this fucking morgue communing with dead bodies. See any problem with the picture?"

Brennan clipped the corner of the table as she shoved away from Angela. Bones clattered onto the tile floor loudly, possibly shattering. It was a desecration of unidentified human remains that deserved as much attention as fully-fleshed bodies already in possession of a name. Brennan's whole career—her whole life—was built upon that thesis. An errant phalange crunched under her boot on the way to the exit and she ignored it.

She didn't see the look on Angela's face.

She didn't hear Cam's astonished imprecations.

She didn't stop to lecture the interns gathered by the stairwell, gossiping unproductively, as she blew past them.

Sweets, who had dropped by for a long-postponed visit, raised both eyebrows, folded his arms across his lanky frame and watched pensively from the safety of the couch on the walkway. This aberrant behavior would merit some definite debriefing at the partners' next therapy session.

Security guards well into their monotonous daily routines woke up and jumped out of her way when she came barreling down the stairs. One was flattened anyway and remained in a prone position, enjoying the view of Dr. Brennan's shapely rear end from this new angle.

Hodgins watched from the platform, certain aliens had finally arrived in downtown DC bearing interstellar cadavers that needed to be IDed quickly in order to prevent the implosion of the galaxy by warring factions in league with the CIA.

The anthropologist known for her attention to detail noticed none of the chaos she was causing.

Two steps forward, instead of backwards, for a change, full-tilt as she did everything after fully committing,

Brennan ran.


	22. A different kind of belief

**A/N: Beaucoups thanks to Skole for sharing her medical expertise and beta-ing my own fledgling efforts at hospitalese. All credit for the doctor's note goes to her. She wrote it in its entirety, and also ensured that I accurately and fairly narrated the rest of the details leading up to the LP, in spite of my own rather strong feelings about the procedure. ;)**

**Color me annoyed. Temperance's first words to Nurse Hardwin are meant to be run together, sans punctuation, but the website refuses to publish the story as is, and keeps editing out the entire section, so I've had to revise …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Being towed or ticketed wasn't a big concern at this point. With all the one way streets surrounding George Washington University Hospital and the complete lack of any parking spaces, by the time Brennan decided to park at the university instead, she was seriously contemplating leaving her car in the middle of the street. She threw the keys to her vehicle to a valet, along with $50 for an overnight stay. The guy yelled after her that there was a procedure to be followed—paperwork, obviously—but she was already running again.

Luckily, she'd conducted research in collaboration with the Gelman Library and was thus somewhat familiar with the campus. A quick jog up 22nd Street and across onto 23rd put her at the door to the Emergency Department's walk-in entrance on the west side of the street.

The triage nurse on duty had seen more than her fair share of drama in her new residency, but Temperance Brennan's arrival that night would remain a story to be told over the years. Anita Hardwin had been reading _The 206__th__ Bone _in between shifts, when she could manage to keep her eyes open. So when the famous author careened up to the desk, ignoring the security guard closely following in her wake, Anita motioned him away. She figured she wasn't about to be shot or dismembered by the woman famed for fingering murderers. And if she was, it'd make a great obit.

Brennan leaned over the desk, pulled in a lungful of air and rapped out,

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan my partner Agent Seeley Booth's son Parker was brought in earlier today with a condition I have yet to be appraised of I need to know where they are and what the parameters of the case are insofar as we know yet."

"Are you and the Micromachine guy* dating by any chance?" inquired Anita. "'Cause you sound just like him." When Brennan failed to reply, the nurse continued calmly, "No? Too bad. You two would have had really cute kids. By the way, I think the guy you're looking for is right over there, babe. Any chance you're dating _him_? If not, I'd love a shot. Yuh-mmy."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She pivoted around.

Booth stood a few feet away, looking as lost as Brennan had ever seen him. His jaw was clenched, his face ashen and he clutched a cup of coffee so tightly that the paper cup was beginning to crumble in his fingers. He didn't notice the hot liquid seeping across his skin.

"You came." The two words, laced with surprise he was too tired to hide from her, spoke volumes.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to say that of course she came, he was her partner. She wanted to hug him. A week ago, hugging would have been okay, but things had changed between them. She didn't know what was appropriate in this situation. He was the one who usually helped her with such things. She didn't want to make this about her. Is that what a hug would do? There were days she hated being Temperance Brennan for her inability to quit overthinking.

"Where is he?" she asked hesitantly.

"They're running tests on him. Rebecca's in there—they'll only allow one parent with him at a time." Booth's voice broke. The tough FBI Agent was clearly distraught at not being able to be by his son's side.

"He'd been feeling rotten for a couple days. We thought it was a stomach bug that all his friends were getting. Yesterday he went to bed with a fever and a stiff neck. Woke up in the middle of the night covered with a rash, vomiting and screaming that his head felt like one of Daddy's bad guys had shot him." His voice cracked again. "Then he started hallucinating and Rebecca dialed 911. I don't understand half of what they're saying about his condition. I made a doctor write it down for me, in case you got any of my messages …"

He dragged out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and held it out, hands visibly trembling.

This, at least, Brennan knew how to deal with. She strode forward and took the paper from his hands, but not before carefully prying the deceased coffee cup from his fingers and discarding it. She kept her hand on Booth's elbow as she skimmed the doctor's hastily written notes.

_This patient presented to the Emergency Room following a collapse at home. Mother reports a six hour history of Parker complaining of severe headache, unrelieved by acetaminophen; anorexia, nausea and vomiting; photophobia, high fever with rigors. Mother noted a dark petechial rash over the extremities and onset of confusion / delerium and called an ambulance._

Upon examination, Parker is febrile with a purple rash extending over the distal upper and lower limbs bilaterally. Extremities are cold and shut down, with evidence of micro-thrombi formation with threat to viability of distal phalanges. Neurological examination is positive for Kernig's and Brudzinski's signs. Neck stiffness and marked photophobia is noted. Coma score was 12 on arrival and has deteriorated to 9. Decision made to sedate and intubate for airway protection until goal-directed therapy has been  
implemented.

Labs show evidence of low platelet count, very high white cell count and differential neutrophil count, consistent with a diagnosis of meningeal disease. Onset of coagulopathy has been corrected with a dose of vitamin K and INR will continue to be closely monitored. Inflammatory markers are elevated with high normal ESR and very high CRP. Renal and hepatic function are currently within normal limits.

"They think Parker might have meningitis."

"I've heard of it, but it means nothing, Bones." Booth sounded exhausted—on his last limb. "Just tell me in English, please. "What do they think is wrong with my kid?"

She started to rattle off a technical explanation, then stopped and pulled a pen from her pocket, realizing circumstances warranted a different approach. "Sit down. I'll draw you a picture of what they think is happening inside Parker's body."

He obeyed, sinking into an ugly mottled couch and peering over her shoulder as she sketched a quick diagram.

"This is the human brain. This," she pointed, "Is called the meninges. In simplified terms, it's basically a lining that protects the brain." Booth nodded, indicating he was following. "Underneath the meninges is cerebrospinal fluid. Right here. It runs all the way from the brain down the spinal column and cushions the brain, filters blood and brings nutrients in to the brain and spinal cord. I gather from this note that Parker's doctors seem to think he might have an inflammation of the meninges, caused by a viral or bacterial infection somewhere else in his body."

Booth blanched. "His brain is swelling?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"That can't be good." Her partner looked like he was about to cry. "Are there other possibilities?"

Brennan's heart broke for him.

"Parker's symptoms could also indicate a brain abscess, lupus, Lyme disease …" she trailed off, seeing the blank horror on Booth's face. "Those are extreme scenarios. The doctors need to make sure their diagnosis is correct, and then they can start treatment for the correct type of meningitis. That's why they want to do a lumbar puncture."

"What's that?"

"Remember how I said that fluid runs all the way down his spinal column?" She indicated the crude diagram again. "The fluid will be able to tell the doctors the nature of the infection."

He frowned. "How do they examine the fluid if it's inside his spine?"

"They'll do a lumbar puncture. A spinal tap, wherein they'll insert a needle and withdraw a small amount of the fluid—"

Booth's horror had turned to outright panic. "They're going to stick a needle in my little boy's back?"

"I know it sounds terrible, but it's a relatively common procedure, Booth." Brennan spoke as reassuringly as she was capable of.

"Aren't there all kinds of nerves back there?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of his lower back.

"I'm not a medical doctor, but I've heard the procedure can be unpleasant," she admitted.

"Unpleasant meaning painful?"

"He's intubated and sedated, so he won't feel anything."

Booth dropped her hand and stood. "Maybe not painful, but what about dangerous? What if they hit something when they're jabbing around back there? Do they do it while watching on an X-Ray or something?" He stared down at her, dark eyes pleading.

"My knowledge of the procedure is limited to that of a lay person's. However, my extensive knowledge of human anatomy would suggest that, yes, admittedly, there is some risk." She didn't want to hurt him any further, but knew that anything less than the full truth could prove ultimately damaging.

"So the person who does this will be an expert."

"Not necessarily. This is a teaching hospital, so it's possible an intern will conduct the procedure, under supervision."

"Hell, no!" Booth broke into a jog down the hallway. "They're not using my kid as a scientific guinea pig. Just because he can't feel anything doesn't mean an intern can't screw things up. I want a real doctor to perform the procedure."

Brennan debated arguing that interns _were _real doctors, albeit in training, then considered her original assessment of Zack Addy and chose to forego that line of conversation.

"They'll need to administer Vitamin K prior to the procedure anyway, in order to correct the risk of bleeding. That will take at least an hour. So the procedure won't be performed just yet."

"Great. Gives me time to find somebody who's about twenty years older than Sweets." Booth stopped just outside the doors to triage. "You said there are different kinds of meningitis?"

"Some more severe than others. Viral meningitis is the least aggressive. Bacterial would have significantly more repercussions."

He took both of her shoulders and squeezed tightly. "I need you to do something for me, Bones."

"Anything."

He dug in his pocket, fished out his wallet and thrust it at her. Brennan took it uncertainly.

"I know you don't believe, Bones, but I want you to go and light a candle for Parker in a church. It's a visible reminder that I'm thinking of him, asking for God's protection. You just put a dollar bill in the little collection box before lighting it. I have to be here with him, so I can't do it, and the chapel here doesn't have any candles because of fire regulations."

"Of course I'll do it." Her beliefs might not concur with his, but at this stage she wouldn't have denied him anything.

A relieved look sprinted across his face and disappeared into the lines of worry. "Thanks, Bones. Really."

He shoved the triage door open, then turned back toward her again. "Will you come back afterwards?"

"As soon as I'm finished."

"Thanks, Bones. I owe you big." He vanished through the swinging doors before she could answer him.

Brennan stood there staring after him, wishing for … something she didn't quite want to define at this precise moment. Something was missing, leaving a gaping hole within her that begged dangerously to be excavated for evidence. Stifling those turbulent feelings as she had so many other interfering emotions in her lifetime, she made her way back down the sterile corridor. As she passed the triage intake desk, Nurse Hardwin gave her a wink that baffled Brennan for about three seconds. Then the shout rang out behind her.

"Bones!"

She turned and saw Booth hurrying towards her, skirting various people in the way. The FBI Agent skidded to a stop in front of Brennan and yanked her into his arms without preliminaries. She threw her own arms around him and held on tight. The partners clung to each other in an embrace reminiscent of the day she pulled him off a ship destined for the bottom of the ocean.

"Will you light two candles for him?" Booth's voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Yes."

"Three?"

"Five," she whispered into his neck. "Ten. However many are needed to convince you that Parker is well represented."

"I love you, Bones." His breathing was ragged; his words warm in her ear. "Every day. But especially this minute."

Brennan wanted to answer him in kind. Wanted to, so badly, but found the old safeguards still firmly in place. Frustration boiled within her. Would she never be free of their constraints?

She felt Booth's fingers slip something into her lab coat pocket.

"After you light those candles, Bones, read this."

They held each other for another long minute until Booth broke away from her at last. He backed away several feet, still holding her with his intense gaze until he finally turned away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

***For those who weren't around in the 80s—the Micromachine guy was a TV announcer who talked faster than Zack Addy.**

**Post-narrative A/N: An intern did a lumbar puncture on me. His hands were shaking so badly, he kept missing the mark where he was supposed to insert the needle. His instructor kept yelling at him, probably making him even more nervous. I've spent my fair share of time in hospitals, but that was the most pain I've ever felt in my life, bar none, including when I had an emergency appendectomy. I understand the purpose of teaching hospitals. Needless to say though, I bear a grudge.**


	23. Fires of the inner squint

**A/N: St. Vincent de Paul Church is my own invention, as is its location. The others are real.**

**Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews. You really keep me going!**

**The following offering may be somewhat OOC, or maybe not. Again, I'm hoping Brennan's evolution as a character would allow for her actions in this chapter. Please let me know what you think, either way! **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

St. Vincent de Paul wasn't far down the street. Brennan paused on the church steps and peered at the glass-encased Mass schedule.

**Sunday: 9 am, 11 am**

**Monday: No Mass**

**Tuesday – Friday: 7:00 am**

**Saturday: 5:00 pm Sunday Vigil & 7:00 pm Spanish service**

The absurd notion occurred to her, as she contemplated the large, plain wooden doors, that she should knock before entering. Would the place even be open on a Monday, after 5:00 pm? Shaking off the momentary feeling of being a frog out of water—she knew the idiom was meant to be _fish_, but, presently, she had a thing against aquatic vertebrates—Brennan pushed against the door. Somewhat to her surprise, it yielded easily.

She stepped inside and moved through the vestibule and the second set of doors purposefully. Cool darkness greeted her as she entered the sanctuary, broken only by the soft glow of a light over the altar and a few lingering traces of sunlight filtering through ornate stained glass windows. Rows of wooden pews and flanked her on either side. Several people were kneeling silently in prayer. Two glanced sideways to see who had entered the church, making Brennan feel like an intruder.

She didn't understand the belief in something completely unscientifically proven, but she knew plenty about the history. In college she had taken multiple classes on theology and its congruent archaeological and anthropological sites of interest. These had served both to satisfy certain credit requirements for her anthropological degree, as well as to appease her own need for vigorous debate on the topic. As a result of those classes, along with countless hours of research she'd done into primitive societies, Brennan was aware, probably more so than Booth, that each part of the church was intended to be symbolic.

Her anthropological side took over, covering for her discomfort, and she critically analyzed the structure of the building. The church was laid out like a cruciform, beginning at the vestibule, extending through the nave- from the Latin _navis_, or ship, symbolizing Noah's Ark, outside of which the early Church believed no person could be saved—branching out right and left into the North and South transepts, joined by the aptly named Crossing, and culminating in the altar. The vaulted roof of the building was a metaphor for charity, 'covering' all sins, the floor a representation of the physical foundation necessary for faith. Architecturally, the building was intentionally aligned from West to East. East, at the altar, indicated the direction for Jerusalem and Heaven. West represented the door to the common world through which people entered, leaving evil behind.

Brennan had been under the impression that, however much she disagreed with the creed its members lived by, she was at least well-educated about the general rituals performed in the Catholic Church due to their anthropological significance. But she'd never really paid much attention to candles beyond the altar. She realized that she wasn't sure if all churches had them as a rule, or whether this detail was relegated to a priest's personal preference. It was possible she'd have to visit several churches before locating the candles Booth wanted lit. The idea was far from appealing.

Scanning the room, she finally spotted a small wrought iron stand that seemed promising. She hurried over, stepping lightly in order to make as little noise as possible. To her relief, she discovered a cluster of several dozen tea lights on the stand, all carefully arranged in an elevated shallow tray filled with sand.

A handwritten sign stated, "_I am the Light of the World," _beside a laminated sheet of paper with additional directions: "_We invite you to light a candle and say a prayer in thanksgiving, petition or remembrance. Suggested offering is $1 for tea lights, $2 for large candles."_

Brennan pulled out several dollar bills and stuffed them through the narrow slot of the small collection box. Not finding any matches, she lifted another lit candle and touched it to its neighbor. It took several tries before the wick caught flame. Brennan carefully replaced it and lit the two candles beside it. Then she stood back, considering.

Apparently, this wasn't an anthropological ritual held in high esteem at this particular church. Most of the tea lights were unlit. Several smoldered erratically, on their last breath, while others were long-extinguished and devoid of any wax. Only Brennan's three candles and two others burned brightly, casting their flickering shadows across the low iron railing.

"What's his name?"

Brennan jumped in alarm at the unexpected voice and glanced down at where it had originated. An older woman in a wheelchair, wrapped in a bright pink shawl, peered up at her benignly.

"What's his name?"

Brennan shifted uncomfortably. "Whose name?"

"The child for whom you're lighting the candles." The old woman smiled kindly at the expression on Brennan's face. "Three candles, dear," she explained. "I figure it has to be awfully important. Has to be either a little one or somebody else you love dearly."

She pointed a gnarled finger at the other two candles, not waiting for Brennan to respond. "Those are mine. My husband and son passed away at the same time on this day last year."

"I'm sorry," Brennan said lamely, unsure how to react to this complete stranger's calm disclosure of her personal tragedy.

"I am, too." The woman wiped at her damp, wrinkled face with the corner of her shawl, her bright green eyes filled with pain. "But God has them now. They're in good hands, in a place where there's no more suffering. Believing that helps me gets through each day."

Booth's words, paraphrased, drifted back to her suddenly on a haze of memory of one of their first cases together. _Offer up something of yourself, Bones._

"His name is Parker," Brennan blurted. "He's nine. He has a suspected case of meningitis."

The woman clucked. "I'll keep him in my prayers."

"I don't believe in God. I'm only here because Parker's father asked me to light a candle. He's Catholic and it holds personal significance for him."

"I'll pray for him all the same. There are plenty of days I don't believe either. It's hard to, when the two people you love most in the world are wrenched away without even getting a chance to say goodbye. "

"Then why—?" Brennan gestured at the candles in confusion.

The woman patted her arm. "It can't hurt, right? Just in case something's out there listening." She gave a little wave goodbye and wheeled herself away as silently as she had arrived. A silent figure rose from a back row pew to open the door for her and wheeled her from the building.

Brennan dragged her gaze from the old woman back to the candles. It was a ridiculous notion, but they suddenly seemed sad and lonely all on their own in that big tray.

She counted the remaining tea lights, opened her purse and pulled out a $5 and a $10. Stuffing the cash into the collection box, she lit the remaining candles, leaving only one row of 8 fresh tea lights, in case other old women had deceased family members that they wished to commemorate symbolically.

Then she hurried from the church and speed-dialed her best friend.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela's tense, worried voice filled the line. "How is he?"

"They're not sure yet. Ange, I know you're mad at me, but I need a favor anyway. Do a search for all Catholic churches in a 25 mile radius of GWU. I need names and addresses."

"Churches?" Angela echoed in disbelief.

"I don't have my laptop, and I don't want to lose my parking spot. Can you print out that list and meet me outside St. Vincent de Paul on Eye Street in 20 minutes?"

"Why are you outside a church, Brennan?"

"I'll explain when you get here." A thought occurred to her. "Oh, Ange, bring matches. And any spare change you can scrounge."

She snapped the phone shut before her friend could ask further questions. Taking the church steps two at a time, she jogged towards Saint Stephen Martyr Church on Pennsylvania Avenue. The priest there had been very open to her questions several years back, when she was writing a paper on pagan traditions that the Catholic Church had subsumed and now espoused as part of its doctrine.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She entered the church breathlessly, ignoring the chastising looks from parishioners in the pews. Locating the candle stand, she hurried over. This one had slightly larger candles on risers, and the suggested offering was $2 for a small and $2.50 for a large, though no large ones were in evidence. Brennan crammed an appropriate amount of spare change into the collection box, ignoring the deafening clatter of metal against metal. Once again, there were no matches. She grabbed one of the three already lighted candles and went to work.

Twenty minutes, a stop at the Newman Catholic Center on F Street, as recommended by a kind Saint Stephen parishioner, and 23 lit candles later, Brennan was waiting impatiently on the steps of St. Vincent de Paul when Angela pulled up and parked illegally on the street. The artist jumped out of the car and hurried over.

"List." Angela waved a piece of paper. "Matches." She pulled a large box from her purse. "Change." A large plastic bag full of coins corroborated the final statement. "Now, do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Angela's eyes grew wider and wider as Brennan briefly explained what she hoped to accomplish in the next 45 minutes.

"I want to get back to the hospital as quickly as possible. And I don't want Booth to know about it," Brennan finished firmly. "Or anybody else, including Hodgins."

"Jack already sort of does," Angela admitted. "I had to tell _somebody _about your request, Bren! He officially declared me hearing impaired, by the way, and said you must have meant something entirely different."

"Then make something up, Angela," Brennan insisted. "I don't want to ask you to lie to your husband, but this … this is personal. I don't even understand why I feel compelled—"

"Bren." Angela stopped her with a hand on the shoulder. "You don't need to explain. What you're doing is great, Brennan. _Really_ great, whatever your reasons. Come on."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The pair worked their way church by church across the target area, following Angela's geographically arranged list. They didn't speak. Brennan's genius brain was going way too fast at the moment to manage a coherent conversation. Angela drove and waited in the car, while Brennan systematically set Washington D.C. ablaze.

The procedure was simple: Deposit the change, strike a match, light all candles except for one row, run back outside, hop in the car, drive to the next location and repeat. Improbably, all the churches they visited remained unlocked in spite of the encroaching night.

At their last stop, St. Anthony's on 12th and Monroe, Brennan finished lighting the matches and turned to leave as she'd done at the other 11 places. There were no parishioners in the building, for a change. She was halfway down the nave when her feet suddenly stopped moving of their own volition.

"I don't believe in you," she said firmly, talking to thin air and feeling like six kinds of an idiot. "Your existence is unproven and people's reliance upon you is predicated upon heritage and hope, rather than solid evidence. The notion that there is some benevolent deity who attends to humanity's every need is completely absurd, when contrasted with the chaos that attends to people's daily lives on this planet. If you existed then, rationally speaking, my partnership with Booth wouldn't even be necessary. People wouldn't be violently murdered and left without faces, without names. An all-powerful being would prevent such suffering." She paused, aware that her voice was getting louder and louder. "I don't know why I lit those candles. I don't know why I'm standing here talking to nothing. Parker's a great kid. Just in case you do exist, a little help would be appreciated in ensuring that his condition doesn't deteriorate. But you don't exist," she added. "Obviously."

Her cellphone rang abruptly, ending the absurd conversation. She flipped it open, already walking toward the door.

"_Bones, where are you?"_

He didn't give her a chance to answer.

"_They're saying the Vitamin K did whatever it was supposed to and now they want to start the lumbar tap thing. Bones, I need you here with me when they stick that needle in Parker. Please."_

"I'm on my way." Brennan crossed the street to where Angela was waiting. "Find a way to stall them, Booth." She climbed into the car and waved at Angela to step on it. "I'll be there in 15 minutes or less."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**I've got Chapter 24 written completely. Just need to ask my wonderful medical lingo beta-er for a quick looksee, before publishing.**

**In the meantime, R & R, pretty please … :)**


	24. This is Spinal Tap

**A/N: An additional note to the last chapter: My best friend doesn't believe in God but, frequently when she goes by a church, she stops by and lights a candle for me then calls to let me know, because she knows I find it meaningful. That's the kind of motive I was going for in Brennan's actions.**

**One hundred thousand thank yous to Skole, medical beta extraordinaire. All credit for the medical lingo goes to her.**

**Thanks to all those who continue R&R-ing! That 5****th**** date is on its way shortly…**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Nurse Hardwin smiled warmly as Brennan rushed in. "He keeps coming out to see if you've arrived yet. That big guy really thinks a lot of you, babe. Go on back." She hit a button hidden under the counter and the doors to triage flew open.

Brennan had barely made it across the threshold when Rebecca accosted her.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "Someone who can talk some sense into him."

"If you're referring to Booth, it's likely that at this instance I don't have much influence over him," Brennan pointed out. "His paternal instincts far exceed the bonds of our partnership."

"Are you kidding?" Rebecca's tired eyes popped. "Every other word out of his mouth is Parker, followed by Bones or Dr. Brennan. He's making all the doctors so crazy, it's a wonder they haven't sedated _him_!"

"Bones! You're here!" Booth rounded the corner, looking ten times worse than he had earlier. If Brennan had been one to use metaphors, she would have said she could feel the fear and stress vibrating off of him.

"They won't let me in the room when they puncture his spine or whatever the hell it is they're doing to him. Rebecca refuses to be there, because she says she'll freak out and scream or vomit or something. You have to make them see reason."

"I'm unfamiliar with the procedural protocol, Booth."

He grabbed her arm and towed her down the corridor in his wake. "I know the chances of it happening are one in a million but, if my kid does wake up when they're jabbing him, he needs to have his Daddy there holding his hand and reassuring him, Bones."

"They probably won't listen to me," Brennan argued. "My title doesn't correlate with their years of field experience."

Booth pulled them up short in front of a tired, annoyed looking MD. "This is the doctor who'll be doing the procedure. Dr. Nicholas, Dr. Brennan."

Dr. Nicholas made no attempt to shake her hand. "We've heard a lot about you, Dr. Brennan," he said dryly. "According to Agent Booth, it would seem that your medical knowledge trumps my entire staff's."

"That's incorrect," protested Brennan. "I never said-"

The doctor held up a hand. "Can we begin the procedure now that she is present, Agent Booth?"

"Not until you promise I can be in there with him."

Brennan knew that look. Tired as he was, her partner was digging his metaphorical heels in on this one.

Nicholas rubbed his face wearily. "May I have a word with you privately, Dr. Brennan?"

They stepped a few feet away. Not nearly enough to keep Booth from eavesdropping.

"Your reputation for being a logical, rational individual precedes you. Furthermore, Agent Booth seems to believe you walk on water. Therefore, you need to explain to your partner that his overwrought condition isn't helping his son. Ordinarily, yes, we allow parents to be at their children's bedside when we perform this kind of a routine procedure. But Agent Booth's extreme nervousness precludes that as a possibility in this case."

Brennan half-expected Booth to jump in protesting, but he didn't. He apparently was trusting her on this one completely, which was unnerving, to say the least.

"I can't convince Booth to stop worrying obsessively about his only son, anymore than I can convince you that his actions are extremely out of character and that he would never endanger Parker in any way. However, if you allow me to be in the room during the lumbar puncture, I can assure you that Booth will remain as calm as is possible under the circumstances. He merely requires that somebody explain each step of the procedure to him."

"We've already offered to do so and—"

"In English, Dr. Nicholas," Brennan interrupted. "Booth doesn't understand squint. Medical terminology. The very fact that he doesn't understand much of what is happening to his little boy is reason enough for his aberrant behavior. I can explain things in a way that make sense to him and, thus, relieve at least some of his concerns."

The doctor looked less than convinced. "Dr. Brennan, there is a very sick little boy behind that curtain." He pointed. "We need to isolate his illness in order to optimize treatment."

"Let me stay in the room with Booth and Parker, then. If there's even a hint of hysteria on my partner's behalf, I'll remove him from the room myself." She cut the doctor off before Nicholas could interrupt again. "Yes, I know you have security guards, but they would prove useless. Booth and I have worked together for years and we understand each other. He trusts me. If I tell him to leave, he will, no matter how upset he is."

"Fine." The doctor threw his hands up in surrender. "We'll begin in 20 minutes."

"Will you explain the procedure to me, so I can preview it with Agent Booth beforehand?"

Nicholas sighed and gave her a brief rundown of the process.

He'd barely stalked away when Booth was by Brennan's side. "Well?"

"You can stay with him." She held up a hand as he reached for her. "I'm going to be in the room with you, explaining things. But if I tell you to leave, Booth, for _any _reason, you have to listen and leave immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He bear-hugged Brennan until she thought her thoracic cage would splinter. "Thank you, Bones. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Let me try and explain what you're going to be seeing," she mumbled against his chest. "It might make things easier if you know what to expect."

He led her to a chair.

"First of all," Brennan began, "When we enter the room you'll see Parker in a lateral recumbent position, basically on his side with his knees draw up to his chest."

"Why?" Booth demanded, obviously not likely the visual one bit.

"It makes it easier to access the space in between the vertebrae, where the cerebrospinal fluid is located. Lean forward."

Booth did as she asked and Brennan palpated the L2 through L4 vertebrae. "Right here, the technician will feel around. He'll want to find the widest space in between the vertebrae so that they can extract an appropriate amount of cerebrospinal fluid, the stuff I drew you a picture of earlier. They'll mark the correct spot with some kind of pen. Then they'll swab the skin with antiseptic wipes and cover the area with sterile drapes. After that, they usually inject a local anesthetic, but since Parker is sedated, they'll skip that step."

Booth sat back up and glared. "I want him to have the anesthesia. Tell them."

"Booth, they're not going to listen to me. I already aggravated the doctor enough as it is. Parker's sedation makes the anesthetic completely unnecessary. Trust me on this, please."

Grudgingly, he nodded.

"Next," Brennan explained, "Using a 5 cm long 25 gauge pencil point spinal needle, they'll insert the needle in between the vertebrae in the direction of Parker's navel. There's a layer of ligament the needle will have to get through, so the doctor will exert some careful pressure until they've reached the interlaminar space—that area where the cerebrospinal fluid is. The needle is smaller than the one used for adults, in order to reduce the risk of complications. They calculate how deep the needle should go based on a multiplication of Parker's height by 0.03. That's about 4 cm. So you need to be prepared to see that needle go at least 80% of the way in, Booth."

Booth closed his eyes and bowed his head. It looked like he might be praying.

"It can take multiple tries to hit the right spot, so you might see the doctor moving the needle in and out, checking for fluid," Brennan continued. "Once he does get a return of fluid, the doctor will attach a kind of measuring device to the needle, to assess the intercranial pressure. This is important, because it will reflect brain swelling. A number of around 8 is good news. At that point, Parker's legs will be straightened out by a nurse, to equalize the pressure and allow at least 10 drops of fluid to be collected. Then the needle will be removed, a fresh sterile dressing will be placed on Parker's back, and the procedure will be complete. The doctor will visually assess the fluid prior to testing. It should be clear. If it's cloudy or has any blood that's visible to the naked eye, that's a negative sign."

"Number 8 pressure. Clear fluid. Okay," he rasped.

Brennan rested her head against his shoulder, trying to be comforting even though it was far from her natural state. "This is an excellent hospital, Booth. Parker is in good hands."

"Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan?" Dr. Nicholas called. "We're ready to proceed. Come on in."

"Take care of my baby, Temperance." Rebecca emerged from the room where she'd been spending a final few minutes with Parker. "I know I should be in there with him, but the doctor doesn't need two basket cases to deal with, and if I see somebody coming at Parker with a big needle, I'll probably turn it around and stab them with it in the face." She hugged Booth disconsolately and disappeared down the hallway.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The color on Booth's face drained even further as he took a seat beside his sedated son. The little boy's blond hair was limp and sweaty, his eyes tightly closed but fluttering restlessly in REM. Like Brennan had explained, Parker was bare-chested and on his side, knees tucked closely to his ribcage. Various tubes and needles ran under his skin and were taped to his arms and legs. Booth feared he would never get the image out of his head for the rest of his life.

The FBI Agent wrapped his fingers around Parker's hand and nodded at the doctor grimly. "Get it over with."

Brennan hovered nearby, watching as the doctor did exactly what he had said he would do. When Nicholas began to insert the needle, she crossed over to Booth's side and took his free hand. He compressed her fingers between his painfully, but she didn't complain.

It took several tries to get the needle into the right space, by which point Brennan was concerned that Booth might leap across the table and do what Rebecca had threatened. But he remained by his son's side, asking the occasional question, otherwise just watching intensely.

"Intercranial pressure is 8," Nicholas announced, beckoning to the nurse to rearrange Parker's position on the table.

She felt Booth relax his grip on her marginally.

"Done," the doctor finally said after an eternity, holding up the vial.

Booth's eye fixated on the fluid. "Is it clear?"

"Looks that way," Nicholas replied, smiling.

He'd barely gotten the words out before Booth was out the door like a shot.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Booth!"

"He's in the bathroom," Rebecca told her, shoving past the scientist to see her child. "Did everything go okay?"

Brennan let the doctor answer her question. She glared at the door to the men's restroom across the hallway, willing Booth to emerge.

Nurse Hardwin walked by, apparently on break. She smiled warmly. "Nobody else is in there, honey. You can go on in, and I'll tell people the place is closed for cleaning. There's another bathroom right around the corner anyway."

Even if there had been another man inside the restroom, it wouldn't have much mattered to Brennan. She marched in determinedly.

The restroom was standard hospital issue, tiled in pale green squares with several urinals, two stalls, mirrors and sinks. Booth was leaned against the last sink, his corded forearms trembling with the effort of holding him upright as he dry-heaved. His complete lack of a reaction to Brennan's presence in the men's restroom told her everything she needed to know about how upset he was. On any other occasion, he would have thrown a fit at her impropriety.

"I'm supposed to protect him," he choked, hands clenching into fists and smashing in rage against the tile.

His reflection in the mirror reflected a similar hue to the green tile.

"He's my little boy, Bones," Booth raged, driving his fist into the wall yet again. Brennan found herself worrying he'd hit the mirror next. "The only thing that matters in this whole world is keeping him safe. And tonight I couldn't do it!"

"Yes, you did." Brennan ducked her head under his shoulder, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Booth, you got Parker the most qualified expert for the procedure. You pulled yourself together enough that you could sit there with him and hold his hand, in case he needed his Daddy, like you said." She caught his bleeding hands and kissed the battered, split knuckles. "Much as I know Rebecca loves Parker, she couldn't do it. You did. You protected your son to the best of your abilities, Booth. The visual analysis of the CSF was reassuring and so was the intercranial pressure. Now, the God you believe in has to take over things."

Booth stared down at her in astonishment mixed with grief.

"Who knows, Booth." Brennan tenderly brushed the sweat-damp hair back from his face. "Maybe you believing, even if I don't, makes all the difference."

Her partner sagged forward and she caught him, folding her arms around him as he wept. As Booth had done for her on so many occasions, Brennan held him.


	25. Here, kitty, kitty

**A/N: A nasty stomach bug knocked me sideways the last couple days and there was no Booth to nurse me back to health, so I had to do it on own. Anyway, I'm still kind of woozy, but mostly back to my usual self. So here's that update I've been hearing requests for ever since Chapter 24 was posted. (Thanks for the interest. :0) ) Date #5 WILL be the next chapter. Scout's honor. It might even get posted tonight … and that kiss is fast approaching. ;)**

**The end of this chapter may be OOC Brennan, may be not. In my opinion, given the progression of this story, (particularly the candles), it's time for her to take this step. But I might have moved things too far, too fast. As always, I'd love your feedback on whether I got it right or wrong and why.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Flying in the face of national statistics—summer heat = rise in crime rate—things slowed down considerably at the Bureau in the immediate wake of Parker's diagnosis of viral meningitis. Leave it to the murderers to stop murdering—or at least to stop leaving their victims so disfigured that Brennan's services were needed—at the exact moment when tensions were running at an all time high between the partners.

It had taken Parker close to a month to return to his healthy, mischievous little boy self, and there had been no discussion about putting the experiment on hold. It was simply a given that Booth was going to spend every moment possible overseeing his son's recovery. That extended time period apart, coupled with Booth's never-discussed meltdown at the hospital and Brennan's post-date #4 freakout, resulted in the partners becoming increasingly awkward and jittery around each other whenever they _did _meet, both tapdancing around issues they sorely need to address, namely one "unfinished experiment."

When Rebecca called on Friday afternoon and insisted that Parker be allowed to spend the weekend with his best friend, even though Booth would have preferred to keep the boy under close watch for another month, Booth suddenly had Saturday and Sunday free. And there was no question how he wanted to spend those days.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He showed up at Brennan's doorstep at 10:00 pm, knowing Cam wouldn't have been able to chase her out of the office before 9:00.

She opened the door with her hair in a messy bun, clad in an indecently short, if shapeless, gray T-shirt that made Booth instantly hot under the collar. There still wasn't a version of Brennan he'd discovered that didn't scream SEXY, whatever she might be wearing.

"How'd you know I'd be awake?" Her blue eyes snapped.

"Good to see you too, Bones. Can I come in?"

"If you know me so well, then you already know the answer to that question." She huffed away, leaving the door open nonetheless.

It took Booth a moment to figure out why she was in such a bad mood. As he closed the door behind him and locked it, his eyes were drawn to a blood-saturated washcloth wrapped around her left hand.

"What happened?" he demanded, feeling the familiar protective instinct rise within.

"I was opening a can of food for Josie," Brennan said pointedly, opening and closing drawers in an apparent search for something.

One more reason to dislike the newest addition to his partner's life—a fat, extravagantly ugly black and white cat that was currently perched on the back of the couch, glaring at Booth. The animal was an unexpected rescue, acquired when Brennan and Hodgins had visited the local pound to find a puppy for Angela's upcoming birthday. One quick lesson on automatic food dispensing devices, and several dozen promises from Hodgins that he and Angela would babysit the cat if Brennan went out of town, and Temperance Brennan suddenly had a pet. And Booth had a rival for his affections.

"I wasn't expecting visitors so late," Brennan continued, her head inside a cabinet, "And when you knocked I cut myself on the serrated edge."

Booth draped his jacket on a chair and rolled up his sleeves. "Let me see."

"Why? You dislike blood."

"If it's my fault you got cut, then I want to see the damage."

"It's unnecessary," Brennan informed him. "I'm perfectly capable of attending to my own injuries."

He groaned. "You just can't make things easy, can you?" As she walked by him, he grabbed her injured arm, careful to place his hand well above the injury. "Let me see, Bones."

He unwrapped her hand gently, ignoring her protests, and peeled away the sodden cloth to reveal a nasty, jagged cut winding its way under her thumb.

Booth frowned. "This needs stitches."

"No, it doesn't. The laceration is shallow, even if it's visibly unpleasant, and has already stopped bleeding with simple compression. No subcutaneous tissue is visible. While the location of the injury is problematic and may temporarily impair the range of motion of the proximal phalange, the edges can be quite easily superglued together, saving us both a trip to the hospital. Haven't you seen enough of doctors lately?"

"All right." He didn't release her arm. "Where's the glue, then?"

"There's a tube in my medicine cabinet."

"Sit," Booth ordered, pushing her into a chair. He cut off then argument before it made it past her lips. "You can't superglue your own skin back together, Bones. Not with the cut in the location it's in, at least. The _rational _thing to do is to let me help clean you up, so that then I can tell you why I actually dropped by this evening."

Her nose scrunched ever so slightly, in that endearingly annoyed-Brennan mode, but she didn't argue.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth gathered up the glue, bandages, antiseptic ointment and a bowl of warm soapy water, only to re-emerge and find Josie curled up on his operating table beside Brennan.

"Scram, kitty," he commanded, giving the animal a firm nudge in the direction of the floor.

Josie flounced away, voicing her displeasure loudly.

"She could have stayed," Brennan protested.

"You're saying you want cat hair superglued into your skin?" Booth frowned at the tendrils of black and white fur now covering the table.

Brennan followed his gaze and spoke up defensively. "She's stress-shedding. The vet says it's a sign of nervousness and is very common in rescue cats. It should stop once she feels safe in her new environment."

Muttering to himself, Booth stalked back to the bathroom and grabbed a clean towel. Josie was just settling into Brennan's lap when he returned. Cat and FBI agent glared at each other defiantly.

"She'll be fine in my lap, Booth," Brennan said quickly. "The vet says it's important for her to physically bond—"

"Yeah, yeah," he cut her off, feeling none too charitable toward the hissing feline who was partly responsible for his partner's injuries. The same hissing feline that was 'physically bonding' with his partner's lovely lap, just above a scrap of red lace that was visible where her T-shirt had ridden up dangerously on her thighs. _Damn cat's getting more action than me!_ "Just make sure she stays where she is."

He laid out his equipment on the towel, dragged a chair up to the table and sat down. "This may sting," he cautioned, immersing her hand in the warm water.

She flinched slightly, but otherwise said nothing, continuing to scratch Josie's ears soothingly with her free hand. The cat growled and purred simultaneously, sounding like a miniature piece of farm machinery.

Once Booth was certain the laceration was clean, he dried the injury, applied disinfectant, and set to work sealing the edges of the wound.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be so good at providing first aid," Brennan commented.

"Army Rangers, Bones," he reminded her, taking the backhanded compliment in stride. "Not the first time I've superglued a wound. Yours is far from the worst I've seen. When I was in training, one of the obstacles courses we had to run included a pit covered in knee-high barbed wire. We had to climb in and climb out on our backs and bellies while wearing 45 pound rucksacks. One of my buddies caught his leg and tore it open all the way from knee to groin."

_Now _Brennan cringed. "Was there a medic nearby?"

"Sure, if he'd asked for one," Booth replied, drawing the skin flaps together so they matched as closely as possible. "But he wasn't about to."

"Why not? That kind of injury would have required prompt medical attention, particularly given the likelihood of infection."

"Because, Bones," he explained patiently, "Once you'd gotten that far, you weren't about to quit and have to start all over again. He had me glue the injury closed and finished the course with the rest of us."

"That kind of irrational, self-aggrandizing display of alpha male prowess is precisely why the military—"

"So, Bones," he interrupted her deliberately, unwilling to get into the same old argument yet again, "Are we, uh, still experimenting?"

That took her offguard. While she processed the question, Booth began bandaging her hand.

"If we were, we'd be on the second week," he added, eyes focused firmly on the work in front of him. He was afraid of what he'd see if he looked at her face. "I was kind of figuring maybe 2 more dates, call it even, so we can finally get to week 3? I mean, if you still want to keep going, that is."

"I would very much like to continue the experiment, Booth."

He pressed the final strip of tape in place, looked up and caught the small, shy smile on her face before it vanished and was replaced by a typical look of careful equanimity.

"If you do, that is. If you don't—"

He stopped her with a gentle finger over her lips. "Don't go there, Bones. I'm in it for the long haul and you know it."

Josie chose that moment to yowl loudly. Brennan burst out laughing, the throaty, no-holds barred sound reverberating through the apartment.

"See? The damn cat doesn't like me," Booth exclaimed, grateful nonetheless for the comic relief. "Why'd you get her anyway?"

"She keeps me company." Brennan rubbed the chubby animal's belly.

"So my company isn't enough?" he teased.

"It's nice having someone to come home to at night," she said, the amusement in her voice suddenly gone completely. Traces of loneliness filtered through the silence that hung between them. Loneliness Brennan had previously refused to acknowledge even existed in her life.

Their eyes met again and she dared him. He could've avoided the conversation as they had so many times. But she'd been brave enough to go there. So he followed along, even if he was terrified that this would cause her to shutdown faster than a bank whose burglar alarms had been activated.

"I'd like to be that someone you come home to, Bones." Booth tugged her free hand away from where it rested on Josie, ignoring the hiss of protest from under the table. He held her fingers in his lightly, drawing circles on the palm of her uninjured hand. "Someday, I mean. No wedding ring needed, even if that would be nice, obviously …" he clamped his lips shut, aware that he was babbling

To his overwhelming relief, she didn't pull her hands away, or avoid the topic or invent an excuse to send him packing. Instead, she caught the bull by the horns and sent it stampeding squarely in Booth's direction. "Angela said that after the sixth week you'd want us to move in together."

"Whoa!" That one came out of left field. He made a mental note to ask Angela what the hell she'd been thinking. If anything was going to make Brennan run, it was the idea of such a seismic shift in their fledgling relationship.

Booth held up his hands in the universal "stop" sign. "That's a little fast, don't you think, Bones? I mean, I know we've worked together for almost 6 years, but this is a whole new thing opening up between us."

"I would agree that Angela's 6 Steps for Dating are strictly arbitrary in their design." Brennan played with the buttons on his rolled up right sleeve. "However, I have also recently become more aware of my tendency to distance myself emotionally from you when I'm concerned that a new development in our personal relationship might affect our partnership."

You could've knocked Booth over with a feather and he would've gone over easy.

She smiled crookedly at his expression. "Isn't this the point where you melodramatically say 'Who are you, and what have you done with my partner?'"

Okay, Hodgins might have had a point with all his conspiracy theories. Someone had clearly stolen Booth's Bones away and replaced her with an identical prototype that not only was self-aware, but also actually had a halfway decent sort of humor.

"Booth." Brennan's voice dragged him back to the blue-eyed, auburn-haired reality confronting him so sincerely from across the table. "I can't promise I won't have a similar reaction should we decide to consider moving in together at some point. All I can promise is to try and remember to let you know what's going on inside my head before backing away."

"That's more than enough for me, baby," he answered softly.


	26. Date 5

**A/N: Voila. After some unexpected detours along the way, I present Date #5! Since Week 3 is approaching, let's ratchet up the heat factor a little, shall we? ;) **

**(Oh, by the way, superglue is waterproof, for the most part.)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The new Bones was quickly replaced with the old Bones, somewhat to Booth's relief.

She withdrew her hands from his and scowled. "Why do men insist on using such an antiquated term of endearment?"

"First of all, Bones, I'm not _men_," Booth pointed out. "So don't make me the standard-bearer for every other guy on the planet. I'm one man, you're one woman, and sometimes it just slips out, okay?"

"I don't understand what makes the term so appealing," she complained.

"Nicknames are part of dating. Would you prefer _honey_? _Sweetheart_?"

"Why can't you just call me Bones, like always?" Her slight pout was ridiculously cute. "I like Bones."

"You didn't at first," he reminded her.

"It …" she paused. "It grew on me."

"Maybe _baby _will too?" he suggested. "Give it a chance."

He stood up from the table before they had a chance to keep arguing. "So, Bones, baby," he winked, "Are you up for a date?"

"Tonight?" she said in surprise, glancing at the clock. "It's almost 11:00!"

"Tomorrow's Saturday, so what difference does it make? Are you in or not?"

"Where would we go at this time of night?"

"Swimming."

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "There aren't any pools open in the city at this hour."

"Who said anything about a pool?" Booth inquired innocently.

A look of amazement crossed her face. "Booth, are you suggesting we go dip skinnies?"

He swallowed a loud bark of laughter.

"Because if that's the case," she added, "perhaps _I _should be the one to ask 'what have you done with my partner, who is usually quite prudish?'"

"I'm not prudish, Bones," he retorted, "But we're definitely not 'dipping skinnies' before Week 6. So go put a swimsuit on," he urged, waving his hands in the direction of the bedroom.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth was forced to reconsider his comment about being prudish when his partner paraded out of the bedroom 10 minutes later, wearing the aquatic version of softcore porn.

He'd seen her poured into tight dresses with scooped-out backs and low-cut cleavage and, sometimes even, slits halfway up her leg. But never all at the same time. As she stepped into the room wearing nothing but a flimsy scrap of black fabric, two-thirds of Temperance Brennan was suddenly, dangerously on display in front of Booth.

Obliviously, she wandered by him, on her way to the bathroom. As she passed, there was no way for Booth to avoiding dragging his eyes all the way from her long, toned legs, across a backside that should've been inducted into a hall of fame somewhere, over the smooth, lean column of her spine into the heavy fall of hair at the nape of her neck.

"Bones-gahhh. Hmm."

Brennan turned out, eyebrow raised curiously. This gave Booth a full-frontal view, which further decimated his capacities for thinking and speaking.

"Um. Yeah." _Wahwahwahw__**ah**__ …._

First, there was the wannabe garment pretending to be actual swimsuit bottoms instead of panties. Follow that with the flat abdomen honed by hours of yoga. Throw in her ample cleavage, captured in a pseudo-bra held together by a small ribbon-tie. Put the entire lush, lean body together and Booth was officially in Big Trouble.

Booth extracted his tongue from his throat and tried again. "Is that …" he gestured in the general direction of the bra, "That tie thing, uh, the only thing, uh, you know … keeping it closed?" He motioned with his hands.

Brennan glanced down at herself. She had zero body issues. Why would she? To some extent ,she was aware of the effect she had on men, but it was clear she was clueless about the effect she was having on the FBI Agent. He was very, very glad to be sitting somewhere out of her direct line of sight.

"The tie is secure, Booth."

"Good," he gasped. "Just wondering."

She finally picked up on a hint of his discomfort. "Am I dressed inappropriately for where we're swimming?"

Far be it from him to tell a lady how to dress.

"Um … it's a little revealing?" he suggested hopefully.

"It's dark," she reasoned. "Nobody will see me."

_Oh, hell._

"I'll be the only one there to see you," he hinted. "The place we're going is dark. Isolated. Nice, flat landscaping."

She didn't see where he was going, obviously.

"Bones," he growled, "Do you wanna make it to Week 6 before we complete this experiment? Cause it ain't gonna happen if you stay in that thing."

"I thought we'd already agreed to complete—" she stopped, finally filling in the missing pieces. "You're experiencing a physiological reaction to my outfit."

"You think?" he groaned, dropping his head. "Please. Please put something else on? Anything?"

"All right." She walked by him again—this time Booth swore she put a deliberate sashay in her already lithe, easy stride. "I would be interested, however, to know how your definition of prudish differs from mine."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Fifteen minutes later, just when Booth was starting to come back down to Earth, she re-appeared.

"Any better?

He raised his head from the table and looked up.

_Shit_.

Just as quickly, he put his head back down, but it was too late. Images of Brennan swam behind his eyelids. Brennan dressed in a dark teal bikini. The color was a marriage made in heaven for her vibrant blue eyes and dark red hair, but his mind kept gravitating back to the strapless bit. Strapless on top. Those cute little strings tying everything together on the bottom. Strapless on top. Strings down below that would be so easy to untie. _Strapless on top …_

"Not better," she guessed wryly.

"Bones," he said desperately, lifting his head and staring straight at the wall behind her, "It's none of my business what you wear. If that's really your outfit of choice, then fine. Let's go already."

"I have one last option." At least she sounded more amused than annoyed. Tessa and Rebecca would have been infuriated. Not that he'd ever had anything even close to this kind of a reaction with either one of them.

Booth called after her receding steps, "I'm not prudish, by the way! I just want to make it to Week 6. Or Date 5, even," he added miserably.

He was coming to the realization that a midnight dip had been a very bad idea at this stage in the experiment, where he couldn't even kiss Brennan.

"This is my last swimsuit," her voice warned him from the bedroom. "The only other option available is a one piece I've used on diving expeditions to recovery body parts. It's very chaste, and was mostly protected by the dive gear, but there are some stains from body fluids I've inevitably come into contact with."

His arousal fled at the thought of getting up close and personal with any piece of clothing that had done serious time with dead, bloody people.

"Is this acceptable?"

Brennan appeared in the room again, wearing an emerald halter bikini. The top covered more than previous garments, but the bottom left nothing to the imagination.

_Bloody swimsuit. Think bloody swimsuit and lots of dead bodies … either that or start reciting Saints …_

"Yeah. Okay."

As she moved away from him, Booth stood up. "I'll meet you in the car!" he called. And fled.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The 45 minute ride to the swimming hole was filled with two different kinds of tension. On Brennan's end, there was stark amusement at her partner's antiquated views on human sexuality. On Booth's end, well … all that kept running through his head was _strapless bikini_. _And little strings on the bottom piece._

"You're laughing at me, Bones."

"Do you mind?"

"Not really. And I'm not prudish," he insisted as he pulled onto the dirt road.

Fifteen more minutes were spent with Brennan grinning out the window, and Booth, while happy that she was happy, getting increasingly annoyed at her idea that he was some college kid who'd never been laid.

"This is it." He parked the car and got out before she did, going around to her side and opening the door chivalrously.

As she stepped down from the SUV, he pulled her in close to him, dropped his lips so they lingered just above her ear and murmured,

"Jury's still out on me being a prude, baby. Wait until Week 6. I'll give you plenty of empirical evidence."

He released her, satisfied at the slight flush that colored her face.

"Race you!" He broke into a sprint.

"That's not fair!" Brennan exclaimed. "You know the way!"

She chased after him furiously, running neck-and-neck with him for the majority of the half mile through fields to the small copse of trees clustered around the deep, sheltered pool that was a little-known outlet to the Potomac River.

"I win!" he grinned, slapping a tree as he arrived half a head ahead of her.

He wasted no time skinning down to his swim trunks and catapulting into the cool water. The way he saw it, if he was in the water when she got half-naked, at least his reaction wouldn't be quite so visible.

Brennan rolled her eyes and shimmied out of her shirt and capris. Booth barely had time to register the fact that she'd gone back to the _strapless bikini, _when she was diving cleanly into the water beside him. The water was cold, but not near cold enough. She knew it, too, by the mischievous look on her face.

"Like what you see, Agent Booth?" she teased.

He wasted no time ducking under the water, boosting her beautiful behind up over his shoulder and flipping her backwards with a colossal splash. She surfaced gasping and shrieking with laughter, then came after him with evil in her eyes.

He wasn't sure what she had planned—obviously she couldn't flip him—but the pool was small enough that he could only evade her for so long before she snuck up behind and tackled him, wrapping her arms around his waist and neck, clinging to his back like an absurdly sexy little leech. No matter how he shook, he couldn't dislodge her, so he finally gave in and gave them both a sound dunking.

The contest became who could hold their breath longer and she won. He conceded victory graciously, piggy-backing her around the pool, enjoying the sound of her exuberant laughter. Booth let her enjoy it for a long minute, before flipping forward to do a somersault and catapulting her into the depths with him.

When she popped up next, she was gasping and coughing, obviously having inhaled a lungful of brackish water. Immediately concerned, Booth moved in to see if she was okay, only to have the coughing fit die away as she re-attached herself to his chest.

There was no way she could miss the evidence of his arousal, as she wriggled in close to him, rivulets of moisture gliding down her pale skin and disappearing into that damn strapless top. She had freckles. Freckles he'd never seen because they probably were always hidden by makeup. They ever-so-lightly dusted the bridge of her nose and cheeks and Booth momentarily found them more arousing than the breasts pressed wetly against his chest. After all, he'd always known the woman had breasts. Who the hell knew she had _freckles_? Freckles he suddenly wanted to kiss.

"Booth."

Her voice was husky.

"Yeah, baby?"

She punished him for the endearment by squirming forward another inch, then placed her warm, wet mouth next to his ear, as though sharing a secret.

"While the evidence of your arousal is more physically evident than mine, I assure you we have almost conclusively proved today that my own biological urges are intact." Her lips lingered erotically just above his skin, whispering warmly. "Nevertheless, as you keep insisting, we will wait until Week 6 for final confirmation of my hypothesis."

With that, she slipped away from him, disappearing under the water like some mythical creature from the Garden of Eden, sent to tempt him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As far as Booth was concerned, the highlight of the evening wasn't their increasingly heated, innuendo-laced banter, or the hours of chasing each other around the pool laughing, as night faded away and the sky began to lighten. The highlight of his evening was the eminent Dr. Temperance Brennan's discovery of the tire swing that Booth had rigged for Parker and his friends the summer they discovered the water hole. She might have had multiple doctorates and a brain that put Einstein to shame, but she reacted to that swing the same way any excited kid would have.

The tree he'd strung the swing on wasn't sturdy enough to hold his weight, so he had to content himself with hanging out in the pool and watching Bones go flying out over the water clinging to the tire, screaming with laughter, before deliberately jumping off right on top of him.

At one point, Booth lingered just under the surface of the water, watching as she prepared to swing. When the swing began its arc over the surface of the word, he burst from the depths roaring. She laughed so hard, she fell, rather than jumped, off the swing. After that, her attacks grew increasingly sneaky.

She'd wait until he was doing a lap underwater, then slip out of the pool and onto the swing. As Booth's head emerged, she'd launch herself into the air and off the swing in his direction. Sometimes she caught him, throwing her arms around his neck and hooting with delight. He'd never realized how damned sexy laughter could be.

Sometimes he caught her, snatching her out of midflight and dragging her under water with him in an aquatic tango that he very much hoped to replicate between the sheets one day soon.

And, sometimes, she missed the target completely, careening off into the depths of the water hole, only to resurface somewhere in the vicinity of Booth's toes, which she quickly discovered were ticklish and liked to torment. It didn't take him long to return the favor, when he found a certain spot just below her ribcage that was tortuously sensitive. It was almost worth the physical agony of having her writhe against him just to hear her laugh and squeal at the top of her lungs for him to quit.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They could have sat on the river bank and watched the sun finish rising on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, that idea let Booth's brain straight to what would happen when their backs got tired, and they leaned back into the slightly damp grass, and he'd worry about her being cold so he'd pull her on top of him …

They ended up back at her apartment instead, standing awkwardly outside her door like terrified teens on a first date.

"So, one more date and we'll move into Week 3?" he asked.

"No chance you want to just skip ahead?"

"Sorry, Bones. One more date."

He had to make sure, in his own heart and brain, that she wasn't going to go AWOL if that first kiss finally happened. After tonight, he was more certain than ever that, if she did react in such a fashion, he might wind up single for the rest of his life, if only to avoid cruelly comparing other women to a standard they could never achieve. No other woman should have to try and become Bones Brennan in order to be with him, but, increasingly, it was looking like that was going to wind up being the case.

"Booth," she said quietly, reading more into his thoughts than he'd ever thought possible, "Angela had to deliver the message that Parker was sick because I was so stuck inside my own head that I wouldn't even answer after you'd called repeatedly. There's no question that I behaved selfishly. You have every right to proceed cautiously."

"Ah, Bones, that's not it," he muttered. "You more than made up for that at the hospital."

"It's part of it," she insisted. "In your own way, you're as uncertain about this relationship as I am, for different reasons. You require your own evidence, in the form of one more date."

"Maybe that's it," he admitted ruefully. "I know how I feel about you, Bones. I'm still trying to figure out how you feel about me."

"I understand."

_And, for tonight, that would have to do._

Booth sighed inwardly. "Are you free tomorrow for that last date?"

"I'd intended to work on my novel. Is this an all day date?"

"Yeah. You wanna wait till next weekend?"

"No, tomorrow will be fine. I'd rather spend the day with you than fictional characters of my own creation."

Booth smiled, knowing what a compliment she was bestowing. In her own way, she was trying to tell him something about her feelings.

"Thanks, Bones. Get a few hours sleep before doing whatever it is you have planned for today." He kissed her cheek. "See you tomorrow, baby. "

His deliberate use of the hated endearment eased the tension and brought back some of the earlier light-heartedness of the evening.

"Booth, I intend to prove to you how irritating that endearment can be," Brennan warned him, hands on her damp hips.

"Is that a threat?" he asked in amusement.

"Absolutely."

"Then I look forward to its execution."

He backed away, chuckling at her death glare.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: So we have the final date of Week 2 coming up tomorrow and then … drumroll … the long-awaited kiss. Assuming they get there without any other interruptions. (Don't worry, it's as hard for me to keep putting it off as it is for readers to keep waiting for it.) I repeat: Copious reviews will continue to inspire me to bigger and better dates … ;)**


	27. Date 6, Part A

**A/N: Yes, he likes sunrises. So do I, obviously. And, yes, I also know that the stunt Drake pulls as a favor to Booth is highly unlikely. However out of the realm of reality it may be, allow me that much leeway for the sake of the story's plot, okay? Usually I'm as realistic as possible, so the occasional departure into fantasy should be acceptable, n'est-ce pas? :)**

**The following date is divided into two parts (maybe three. Not sure yet.) This is part A. Reviews are appreciated, as always.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Her cellphone rang in the depths of the night, abruptly popping the bubble of an unusually peaceful night's sleep. She fumbled for the phone on her nightstand and answered sleepily, without opening her eyes.

"Brennan."

"_Rise and shine."_

"Booth." She sat up in confusion, scanning the darkened bedroom for some hint of the hour. "What time is it?"

"_4:30 am. I'll be at your place in 15 minutes. We'll be outside all day, so wear comfortable clothes and shoes. Something that dries quickly might be a plus."_

Brennan stifled a yawn. "Why so early?"

"_When I said I wanted to spend the whole day with you, Bones, I meant the whole day. Sunrise to sunset. Don't worry about coffee. I got it. You can nap on the way there."_

"Coffee? Who wants coffee at 4:30 am? Nap on the way where? Booth? Hello?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When she opened the door for him, she was fully dressed in tennis shoes, hiking shorts and a loose-fitting Tee, but still looked adorably disheveled and grumpy. She didn't bother with a hello before stomping off to the bathroom to do her hair. Booth held back from letting her know that he liked it just fine all messy from sleep, falling over her shoulders in mussed copper waves.

"Is there any reason all our dates have to be at strange hours of the night and day?"

"Partly it's the way our schedules work out. But mostly it's because I like waking you up early and keeping you out late."

Booth snickered at the annoyed look on her face as she re-emerged with her hair in a ponytail. She was far from a late riser, but getting yanked from under the sheets at the break of dawn, without warning or explanation, had to be galling for the pragmatic scientist.

"Morning, Bones," he teased, proffering a cup of diner coffee. "Two creamers, no sugar, just like you like it …"

She accepted it in spite of her earlier reservations and inhaled the aroma thankfully before taking a sip.

He ushered her toward the door. "Sorry for the rush, Bones, but we're on a schedule here."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As usual, Booth refused to tell her where they were going, even though, for a change, he didn't ask her to close her eyes. In spite of being slightly off-kilter at the early hour, Brennan found herself hiding a smile as she sipped her coffee. The element of carefully-planned surprise in these dates was one she was rapidly coming to appreciate.

Booth guided the SUV through darkened city streets, heading down Ohio Drive. They arrived at East Potomac Park, south of Independence Avenue, at 5:17.

Brennan had spent plenty of time in the park, very little of it recreational, unfortunately. She and Booth had retrieved multiple corpses from the area. It was apparently a popular dumping ground for murderers. Atypically, a helicopter was perched in the middle of the otherwise deserted parking lot, headlights cutting through the remnants of night's dark cape, rotors whirring.

"There's our ride." Booth relayed this information as though it was to be expected. "C'mon. Drake's waiting. Keep your head down!"

The chopper's backwash hit Brennan square in the face as she opened the SUV door, erasing the last traces of sleep. She ducked low and followed Booth to the helicopter door, only to discover that there _was _no door. Already inside, her partner reached down and offered a hand, steadying Brennan as she stepped into the bird.

"Bones, this is Colonel Drake Sanford," Booth yelled above the roar of the rotary blades. "Drake, meet my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

A helmeted head turned from the cockpit, smiling at Brennan from behind dark glasses."Nice to meet you, Dr. Brennan. Have a seat and buckle in. Sunrise is at 5:32 am, so we're right on schedule."

Booth handed her a jacket, helmet and glasses similar to Drake's. "It gets pretty cold," he explained.

"Why no doors?" she asked Booth as they settled in and strapped on the full-body seat harnesses.

"You'll understand in a minute." He double-checked her harness solicitously.

"Ready?" Drake called.

Booth flashed him some kind of sign and the roar around them grew even louder as Drake worked the controls and accelerated the speed of the blades, canting the chopper off the ground. As Brennan's stomach dipped at the close-up of concrete directly beneath them, Booth leaned over so she could hear him better.

"There are lots of helicopter tours over DC, Bones, but none like this." He motioned at Drake. "He's allowed to fly in otherwise restricted airspace. You'll get some close-ups of places most people only ever see from the street."

Brennan grabbed his hand as the chopper tilted sideways again, giving her a bird's eye view of the Tidal Basin and its surrounding flora.

"He's doing an aerial sweep of the area and offered to take us up as a favor. Technically," Booth continued, "We're not supposed to be here when he's on assignment. Drake's high enough up in the chain of command that he can break the rules occasionally. So damp down the details a little if you tell Angela or anyone else about this, okay?"

She nodded dizzily, watching the dark currents rushing beneath the Potomac's surface. In the distance, pale trickles of silver and gold were just beginning to stream into the sky from the east.

"Keep your eyes on the horizon. It'll help with the vertigo." Booth rubbed her cold fingers in his. "You okay?"

Again, she nodded, unable to turn her eyes from the sight in front of her. The chopper continued to rise, seemingly racing the sun for altitude. As they climbed, the sun rose before them, spreading tendrils of orange and saffron across the sleeping city. Brennan felt Booth tense beside her as the white tombs of Arlington appeared out of the darkness, bathed in the pale rose hue of dawn's early light. She pressed Booth's fingers, hoping to convey some form of muted empathy. He and Drake both saluted as the chopper flew by the cemetery.

The familiar portico and shallow dome of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial came into view, its tall Ionic columns gleaming in the soft sunlight. Brennan had never found this particular building of much interest artistically speaking but, viewed from this wholly different perspective, she suddenly saw a glimpse of the strength of character the building's artist had wanted to convey with such carefully placed architectural designs.

Continuing west, the helicopter angled in for a closer view of the Lincoln Memorial's colonnade and its fluted Doric columns.

"One for each of the 36 states in the Union at the time of Lincoln's death," Booth said in her ear.

She'd known this already but was, nevertheless, impressed.

Now the chopper tilted east, heading for the tall, imposing silhouette of the Washington Monument. Sunlight glinted off the blue waters of the Reflecting Pool leading up to the obelisk, rendering the structure more ecru than white or gray. Before long the White House appeared, and Drake dropped enough altitude for them to get a glimpse of the building and its extensive grounds.

By the time Drake dropped them off at the parking lot with a wave, the sun had fully risen.

Booth and smiled at Brennan, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. His hair was endearingly ruffled from the backwash of the departing chopper. "Worth getting up for at 4:30 am?"

He was dressed as casually as she was, in shorts and an FBI Tee that, loose-fitting though it was, did nothing to hide his well-defined upper body. Memories of the previous night washed over Brennan, primarily of Booth bare-chested and laughing, ferrying her around the waterhole as she clung to his back and pressed herself deliberately close, the better to relish the play of firm muscles under his damp skin.

He'd been treated to a swimsuit exhibition at her apartment and had no idea how much Brennan would have relished the same kind of display from him, if only to have an excuse to run her eyes across the wide span of his shoulders, down the lateral column of his spine …

"Bones …" Booth prodded patiently. "Are you still mad at me?"

He had seen a side of her yesterday that even she herself was unfamiliar with. A goofy, girlish side that Brennan had previously believed had been consigned to the graveyard of memory after her parents' disappearance.

She began to see how carefully he was drawing her out of her comfort zone with these dates, leading her into a whole new realm of possibilities without asking her to give up the world she loved best. He was showing her with each new adventure that yesterday's Brennan could, in many respects, co-exist with her stoic, focused anthropological persona.

"You bring out the best in me." The words slipped by the safeguards and she was glad, for a change. "My understanding of how love is defined is still limited, at best. As such, I can't honestly state that I love you at present. But I believe, Booth, that I might be metaphorically falling in that direction." She paused, searching for adequate words to convey her turbulent feelings. "The sensation is somewhat alarming, I will admit. On a previous date you suggested that you might … catch me?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Post-narrative A/N: Okay, so it's an evil place to end this chapter. But sometimes, you just have to love a minor cliffie. :)**


	28. Date 6, Part B

**A/N: Ever think that maybe Booth is just as afraid as Brennan? He's gotten burned by her more than once. Maybe she's not the only one holding back. Maybe she's not the only one overthinking.**

**This is Part B of Date 6.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_You bring out the best in me. My understanding of how love is defined is still limited, at best. As such, I can't honestly state that I love you at present. But I believe, Booth, that I might be metaphorically falling in that direction. The sensation is somewhat alarming, I will admit. On a previous date you suggested that you might … catch me?"_

The words ran on a loop through Booth's head, replaying themselves in ever more surreal succession. Considering Temperance Brennan's distinct manner of talking circles around sensitive emotional topics, her statements were equivalent to a full-on declaration of love.

This was the moment Booth would have broken under torture. Rules for the experiment be damned, he would have dragged her to him and kissed her senseless. He would have. Except that he'd made that mistake before. He knew Brennan. Knew her better than her own blood relatives. And he knewthat too much emotion on his end at this moment would unnerve her and send her skittering sideways instead of toward him.

Brennan watched him, hands jammed in the pockets of the jacket he had tossed over her shoulders to protect her from the chopper's backwash. Her expression was equal amounts vulnerable and wary, eyes wide, lips compressed.

He wanted to hug her. He_ needed_ to kiss her. She could use neither reaction from him at this point.

Reining in his own desires, Booth grasped her shoulders firmly. "I will always catch you, Bones." He shook her ever so slightly to emphasize his point. "Always. I will _always_ catch you. Just like you catch me." He let her process that for a moment, then threw in the requisite note of humor, to help defuse the emotional tension. After all, they had to get through the rest of the date. "But I'm not gonna kiss you yet. No matter how much you beg, _baby _…"

The tension drained from her face, replaced by some of the lighthearted happiness he had seen the previous night. She squirmed free of his grip and jabbed him in the ribs none-too-gently. "You're going to regret that, Booth!"

"You're all talk and no action …" he teased, dodging her attempt to punch him in the shoulder. If she'd managed to land a blow, it would've hurt like hell. She was no shrinking violet and definitely didn't pull her physical punches anymore than she did her verbal ones.

Brennan chased him back to the car, threatening all manner of squinty mayhem if she caught him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He pulled into the parking lot of Fletcher's Boat House, which was, unsurprisingly, deserted at 6:15 in the morning. Yet again, this was another place Brennan had visited for the purposes of work, but had never gotten around to exploring socially. She found she was enjoying the new perspective. It gave her a different frame of reference for the city that she called home.

"I presume you have a friend who is going to unlock the place for you?" she said archly, referring to the many social connections he was apparently working in order to facilitate these dates.

"Not quite," Booth answered, rooting around in the backseat. "Why don't you go find a spot to sit, Bones? I'll be there in just a sec."

She shrugged and climbed out of the SUV. A nice, grassy location presented itself by the water's edge, abutted by a large sycamore tree. Several ducks honked in the distance, but there were no nearby geese to harass park visitors. Brennan leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes, feeling pleasantly sleepy.

"Don't pass out yet!"

Booth appeared in her field of vision, toting a large rucksack over one shoulder. He pulled a red blanket from the backpack and handed her half of it. Together, they spread it out over the grass. Next, he produced a variety of foil-wrapped packages. When he handed them to her, she was surprised to discover that several were warm.

As Brennan peeled away foil to reveal croissants, fresh fruit, brie, pots of honey, jam, and some kind of frittata, Booth handed over plates, cups and silverware. Finally, he unveiled the piece de resistance for his impromptu picnic—3 vacuum-sealed tumblers.

"Tea, coffee and O.J.," he announced, settling onto the blanket. "Eat up, Bones. You'll be burning a lot of calories today."

There was no need to convince her. She dug in with relish.

"This is the kind of moment where Angela would say she's in love, metaphorically speaking," Brennan mused as she enjoyed a croissant layered with honey and brie.

She glanced over at Booth to see if her words had been misconstrued. He didn't appear disturbed in the least.

"The fritatta's homemade," he bragged. "Potatoes, onions, roasted red peppers, egg and cheese. No meat for the lady, obviously."

She snagged a strawberry and enjoyed the tart, sweet taste. "You're going to extraordinary lengths with this experiment, Booth."

He held out another strawberry. "Let's just say I want to make sure our results are accurate."

He looked away to pour a cup of coffee, still extending the strawberry in her direction. Mischievously, Brennan leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around the strawberry and the fingers holding it. Booth reacted like he'd walked into a tripwire, snatching his hand away with an oath.

"Not prudish at all," she mocked, savoring the berry.

"Oh, Dr. Brennan," he warned, "You're gonna pay dearly for that one of these days."

"All talk and no action," Brennan retorted, using his own words against him.

"Just you wait," he menaced her cheerfully. "Week 6 is gonna leave that genius brain steaming."

"That is physically impossible."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that bet."

"You're not supposed to gamble."

"It's not a gamble if I know I'm going to win," he answered calmly.

They ate at a leisurely pace, arguing about everything and nothing in general until all of the food had been devoured.

As they cleared the dishes, Brennan yawned and blushed. "Sorry."

"Hold that thought." Booth gathered up the rucksack and disappeared toward the car.

A moment later he was back with two fat pillows. "We have about two hours before crowds start arriving. I'll set my alarm and we can nap before the next part of our date. Sound good?"

She could only nod in amazement at his thoughtfulness as he settled down beside her, offering her a choice of pillows. In response, she nudged them away and thumped his chest meaningfully. "This is my preference for a pillow. If you don't mind."

"Oh, I mind terribly," Booth said sarcastically, reclining on the blanket and extending an arm. "Having your beautiful body pressed up against mine is torture, but it's a penance I guess I'll have to put up with."

Brennan curled into his side, enjoying the feel of his hands gently stroking through her hair and down her back as she drifted off to sleep. She was far off in the land of nod when Booth spoke next. His words were tender, more of a whispered aside to his oblivious partner than anything.

"I wasn't completely kidding about the torture bit."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**


	29. Date 6, Part C

**A/N: Okay, so this date is getting longer and longer. Hope you don't mind! This is part C. I really do think the next chapter should cap it for Date 6. Thanks to everyone who keeps R&R-ing in patient wait for Week 3. (Just around the corner. Really!)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Sssss.**

Booth groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. The alarm on his phone hadn't gone off yet, therefore he knew he and Brennan had a few more minutes of shut-eye coming. He tugged his gently snoring companion closer.

**SSsss.**

He cracked an eye in confusion at the sibilant sound, saw nothing but cloudy blue sky overhead, chalked it up to imagination, and tried to fall back asleep.

**SSSss.**

"OUCH!" Something attempted to remove a sizeable chunk of flesh from his ass. Booth leapt up, clutching at his backside and tried to twist and turn to see his attacker at the same time. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to disappear enough for him to comprehend that he was being attacked by two apparently very angry, beady-eyed Canada geese. The pair advanced on him, flapping their wings, honking and simultaneously hissing.

Brennan sat up sleepily as one of the birds walked right over her in its quest to get to Booth. Her eyes went wide and she pointed. "Behind you, Booth!"

He sneaked a peek over his shoulder, while trying to keep an eye on the animal in front of him. "Shit!" A hissing gander advanced on him, flapping its wings aggressively.

"We must be somewhere near their nest," Brennan commented.

"Bones, I really don't care about motive right now!" He backed away as the animal arched its neck and let out another threatening **SSSSSS. **"Shoo! Get! Scram!"

"Stop yelling and waving, Booth. You're only instigating the attack. I've heard that maintaining direct eye contact and keeping your chest and face pointed in the direction of the animal can be helpful. You should also not show fear or hostility."

"Thanks for the advice!" He danced backwards as the gander lunged at him, only to discover the mate moving in speedily at the side, making a play for his Achilles tendon. The third fowl in the mix darted forward and dived for Booth's upper thigh. He yelped and flailed his arms.

"I'm under fire here, Bones! A little help would be appreciated?"

"They're already very upset. If I make any sudden moves, it will only aggravate the situation."

"_I'm _very upset!" he exclaimed dodging the combined efforts of the gander and his mate to beat him into submission with a rain of feathers. "JESUS!"

A suspicious smile flitted across his date's face.

"Wait a minute. Why are they only attacking me?" Booth demanded, wishing like hell that he'd brought his gun as Bird #3 flew into the air and attempted to behead him.

"Probably because I'm acting calm and nonthreatening."

"No. That's not it." Realization began to dawn. "You put them up to this, didn't you, Bones!"

"I did not!" she protested, struggling not to laugh.

The gander postured grandiosely, chest out, wings flapping, head bobbing. Booth feinted left, then made a break for the right. The geese recovered quickly and gave chase.

"You did something to make them attack me in order to get even for the _baby _thing!" he yelled, hiding behind a sycamore.

"That's ridiculous."

"_Bones! _ Do something!" He catapulted from the grove of trees, head down, arms churning. The geese followed closely on Booth's feet, nipping at his calves.

"Don't come over here!" Brennan scrambled to her feet.

Booth ducked behind her, grabbing her by the waist.

"You're using me as a human shield?" she cried. "What about all that "I'd die for you" stuff?"

The geese paused a few feet away, re-evaluating the situation.

"When I said I'd die for you, Bones, I meant bullets. Not beaks. Bullets. Okay?"

"If we remain quiet, I'm certain they will go away." She stared at the waterfowl. "They're only trying to protect their young in order to ensure the spread of their genes."

"Great time for a science lesson, Bones," Booth hissed. "Really."

Goose 3 took a few cautious steps forward, cocking his head and eyeing them curiously.

"Nice geese," Brennan said soothingly.

The drake and his hen moved into formation, flapping and honking.

"We're not attacking your nest," Brennan assured them. "We understand the need to preserve your species. It's a trait common to all societies."

"Little problem, Bones. Funny how in all the languages you speak, I never knew one of them was _geese_!" Booth turned and ran for his life as the birds surged forward.

Brennan babbled a few more rational pleas then turned and chased her retreating partner, shrieking as the geese decided she, too, was the enemy and attacked. They chased the partners up the small hill and across the parking lot, honking, dropping feathers and defecating. Booth unlocked the SUV doors as he ran and hurled himself inside. Brennan was only seconds behind, scrambling into the seat and dragging the door closed a moment before the gander got to the scene.

"Jesus!" Booth turned and looked at Brennan. "Did that really just happen?"

The partners stared at each other for a long moment before the humor of the situation finally sank in. Brennan was the first to go, giggling softly and progressing into full-blown, shoulder shaking mirth. Booth followed suit, leaning back in the seat and laughing until his gut ached.

"Bones," he finally gasped. "You have feathers in your hair."

She reached up and confirmed his observation, extracting several tufts of down.

"You didn't get them all. C'mere."

Brennan leaned forward. He caught her around the waist and slid her onto his lap, tucking her against the door and under his left arm. She settled in without protest, smiling saucily.

Booth chuckled at the come-hither look written all over her face. "Ever heard of sex on legs, Bones?"

"No."

"Look it up in the dictionary. Your face will be right next to the definition."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't drop the grin.

He combed his fingers through her long hair, removing several large brown feathers from the nape of her neck, along with more clumps of down from the crown of her head.

"Here." He handed her the feathers. "A souvenir of our date. They actually looked kind of sexy, in a squint-goes-back-to-nature kind of way."

In retribution for the comment, she shifted very deliberately on his lap and smirked at the instant reaction.

"You're an evil scientist, Dr. Brennan," Booth reprimanded mildly, tracing the curve of her lip with a fingertip. "Dedicated to the pursuit of driving me completely insane."

"Tat for tit," she snickered. "Booth, you have a large amount of excrement on your shoes."

"It's tit for tat, Bones." He looked down at the disgusting green slime now befouling his car. "Ah, shit."

"Precisely."

Booth poked her. "You just made a joke."

"Maybe geese inspire me."

He launched a fullscale tickle-attack on her, only to realize that her laughing and writhing on top of him was _way_ 'stimulating,' in Brennan parlance.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post A/N: Goose attacks can be funny, except when they're not. I remember living in England and having to take an alternate route around campus to get to class because a large group of the animals would fly at my bicycle and actually knocked me off a few times. They can cause serious injury. I elected to avoid that scenario. ;)**


	30. Date 6, Part D

**A/N: **_**Part D of Date 6. There will still be several more sections after this. Likely E, F and G. No more than G, though, I swear.**_

**1. No, I apologize we are not yet at Week 3. We're actually still on Date 6 because this chapter went from an innocent 1000 word-er to a mutant 7000. I am NOT delaying the kiss intentionally. This is just how things are unfolding automatically. Please trust me when I say all the events in the following chapters are pivotal to the rest of the story. Meaning they're worth delaying the arrival of Week 3 a little bit longer. So bear with me, please, and don't give up on the story. I'll make it worth your while. Honest. ;)**

**2. The following chapters are heavy on the dialogue, less so on action. I'm going off of the following quote, taken from a horoscope in a local newspaper in my town. It struck me as exactly describing the conversations Booth and Brennan have, and I wanted to build upon it.**

"_**An interpersonal intellectual orgasm happens when your conversation with another person becomes so intense that nothing else matters except the dialogue you're creating together. The two of you are so in-tune, so intellectually bonded, that the sensation is almost like making love. For that time, it's like that person is in you and you are in that person; you are one because you understand each other so completely." Rob Brezsny **_

**3. Huge thanks to Eternal Destiny 304, Skole and Stephaniew for their feedback, beta work, suggestions, email encouragement, etc. They are three supremely talented editors and writers and I highly recommend you read some of their stories, if you haven't yet.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You're always bugging me to let you drive. I'm surprised you haven't insisted on rowing." Booth propelled the rental boat smoothly across the waters of the Potomac River.

A gust of wind almost blew away the floppy white sunhat he had brought for Brennan to wear, and she clamped it to her head.

"I'm admittedly concerned about your back. However, the laceration on my hand would likely reopen under the combined stress of gripping the oar and the exertion of rotational force," she answered. "It's clear that you're enjoying displaying your alpha-male prowess. And I find that I'm enjoying watching your skillful coordination of all major muscle groups in order to exert the necessary force to move us forward."

"In English would that mean you like watching my muscles flexing, Bones?"

"I would be better able to appreciate the physiological aspects of rowing if you were bare-chested."

He laughed and refused to take the bait. "We'll only be on the water for a couple more minutes anyway."

"Why?"

"Rowing around aimlessly isn't exactly my thing, Bones. I like to have a goal—someplace I'm headed."

"Then what was the point of renting the boat for the whole day?"

"We'll need it to get back from where we're headed, and we'll be there a good chunk of the day." He anticipated her next question and pointed an oar in the direction of a small island. "That used to be a nesting ground for protected migratory species, until the geese invaded. The park rangers cleaned the place up and hosed it down with some kind of organic anti-goose repellent. They're hoping that, come spring, they'll get some birds again. It's not open to the public, but I pulled a few strings."

She accepted this explanation, eyeing the approaching islet curiously. "I would be interested in knowing the chemical composition of the goose repellent."

"The guy at the boathouse said something about grape and azalea extracts. You can interrogate him about it if we don't get back too late."

Booth rowed the boat the last few feet and stepped out into the shallow waters of the sandbar surrounding the island. "Give me a hand here, Bones."

She joined him and they hauled the rowboat partly out of the water.

"Go explore if you want," he offered. "I'm just going to unload a few surprises."

That explained the large cooler and rucksack he'd brought with them from the SUV. Taking a hint for a change, she did as he suggested and wandered around the small plot of land. It consisted of several dunes, grassy hillocks, a variety of shrubs and tall grasses. Swampy mudflats on the south end of the island would likely appeal to avian visitors in search of a tasty bug or worm. All in all, she concluded, it was a more than adequate space for wildlife to colonize, assuming the goose repellent worked. If not, the animals would tear out all the vegetation and kill off whatever remained with their acidic droppings.

"Bones?" Booth's voice carried clearly across the small island.

"Just a minute," she called, making her way back toward the rowboat.

She crested a small hill that divided one end of the island from the other and stopped in surprise.

A large, colorful umbrella was firmly wedged into the sand where they'd beached the rowboat, underneath which lay two equally multihued beach towels. Transforming the big cooler into a makeshift table, Booth had laid out all manner of food and even what looked like the fixings for Margaritas. He waved from where he was digging something or other out of his apparently bottomless bag of tricks.

Brennan descended the short distance toward him feeling overwhelmed, not for the first time on one of Booth's dates.

"I can't take you to Tahiti," he said with a rakish smile, "But I _can _offer you sand, water, sunshine and the general feel of a day at the beach."

"I'm at a loss for words," Brennan admitted. "Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before. Why—"

"Because I love you," he answered before she could finish. "And I like surprising you occasionally. Okay?"

"Okay," she said softly. Even though it wasn't, not entirely. It was still hard for her to comprehend the magnitude of this man's affection for her, or the lengths he was willing to go to prove his feelings. She knew with certainty that she'd done little to earn everything he was giving her.

He read her emotions, like he always did. "You're worth the effort, Temperance. And I enjoy every minute of setting up these dates and watching them play out. Trust me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They sprawled out on the towels and Booth served her a pseudo-Margarita from a thermos, garnished with a lime wedge and salt he'd brought with him. He opened a beer for himself and took a long pull before taking the plunge and confessing.

"I had an ulterior motive for bringing us all the way out here."

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

"Week 3 is coming up, and that, by my rules, means we'll finally be allowed to kiss."

"_Finally_."

"I know a kiss is just a kiss, and neither one of us goes in for all of Sweets' psychological mumbo jumbo, but, actually, it isn't."

Brennan looked distinctly confused. They'd kissed before, but she had been unaware that episodes of this activity fell within some sort of subjective continuum.

He sighed and tried again. "We've been building to this for almost 6 years. However it goes down, you have to admit, it's going to wind up being more than just a kiss."

Booth was infinitely grateful when she didn't make a squinty comment or start an argument on the fallacies in his logic. It was hard enough putting words to this idea of his.

"We know each other pretty well, Bones, but there are probably questions you still have—things you want to know about me that you've never been comfortable asking."

It took a moment for her to consider his words, but she eventually nodded slowly.

"I have questions for you, too," he continued. "And I figured we should sit down and get to know each other a little better before taking this next step. Kind of lay it all out on the line, if you know what I mean. Air out the closets."

She mulled over his words. "You're implying that the kiss will signal some kind of commitment between us. A commitment that would benefit from further knowledge of each other's personal histories."

"That's more or less the idea, yeah," he nodded. "What do you think, Bones? I mean, are you comfortable with what I'm suggesting? Some of the questions might get pretty intense. Out here, in the middle of a lake, neither one of us can really escape."

Again, she thought through her response carefully before speaking. "I believe I understand and, to some degree, concur with your reasoning about the significance of a kiss between us carrying more weight than the standard first kiss between two people who have only just met. And I am comfortable sharing details of my personal history with you that I have previously withheld for reasons of professionalism and privacy."

After translating her words, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Ever played Truth or Dare, Bones?"

She shook her head. "I've heard Angela reference it, so I have some idea of what the game entails. But I have no personal experience with it."

He flopped over onto his stomach, facing her as she lay on her back against an inflatable pillow.

"It's easy. I say "Truth or Dare" and you have to pick one of the two options. If you pick truth, I get to ask a question, any question I want, and you have to answer truthfully. If you pick dare, I get to give you an easy, stupid task to complete. We'll trade on and off, I ask, you ask. Make sense?"

"I think I understand the overall concept."

"I'll start. Truth or Dare, Bones?"

"What's the truth?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Well, then, what's the dare?"

"I can't tell you that either," he explained patiently.

"How can I make an informed decision about the two options, if I don't know anything about them?"

"That's the whole point of the game. You have to decide whether or not you want to risk sharing something possibly intimate with the other person, or take the chance of making a fool of yourself instead."

She chewed on her straw.

"C'mon, Bones. Just pick. I'll go easy on you in the beginning. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

Booth grinned. "I dare you to go to the top of one of those sand dunes and loudly sing the full chorus of _Hot Blooded _while dancing."

Relief flooded her face. "I can do that." She handed him her drink, kicked off her shoes and scrambled up a nearby dune.

He watched with anticipation as she prepared herself mentally, then turned and faced him with a cute, blushing little grin. Brennan's version of the bunny hop came next, bouncing up and down in place, her head bobbing to the music heard only in her head. There went the high flying kick, spin around—oooh, air guitar!-and then she belted,

"**That's why, I'm hot blooded, check it and see!  
I got a fever of a hundred and three.  
Come on baby, do you do more than dance?  
I'm hot blooded, hot blooded!"**

Booth hollered and clapped as she made her way back to him. She high-fived him and sat back down looking decidedly pleased with herself.

"Your turn, Bones. Say Truth or Dare," he prompted.

"Truth or Dare."

"Truth," he answered. "Remember, you can ask me anything you want and I have to answer honestly."

Brennan retrieved her drink from him and stirred it thoughtfully. "What is your favorite physical attribute of mine?"

"That's easy." He reached over and grazed the "v" at the base of her neck with his fingertip. "Everything about you is beautiful, but you always keep this little spot covered up with necklaces. And I always have the urge to lift the ornaments away and kiss the skin they've been hiding."

"I'm certain that is not an answer most men would have given," she commented. "It's called the suprasternal notch."

"I keep telling you, Bones. I'm not most men." He dragged his gaze from the enticing indentation.

"I would strongly agree that you are an anomaly when compared to the typical male specimen."

"That makes me sound like some kind of lab rat," he complained. "My turn. Truth or Dare?"

She knocked back the dregs of her drink. "Truth."

"Is Andy based on me?"

That threw her. He could see the gears in her brain churning, trying to find a way to dance around the question. Finally, she capitulated.

"Andy is a construct precipitated upon my personal reality."

"And in English that means …" he prodded.

"Yes."

Booth whooped and punched the air. "I knew it. What about Kathy, Bones? Is that you whose been kissing me on paper all these years?"

"I already answered your truth. You'll have to gather the rest of your answers from deductive reasoning."

"She _is_ you," he crowed. "We've been solving crimes and dating our way across _The New York Times _best seller list for half a decade, Bones!"

She rolled her eyes and pointed ignored his comment. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," he answered, letting her off the hook but filing the new knowledge at the back of his mind for further discussion at a later date.

She smirked. "I dare you to go to the top of the dune and yell something."

"Anything?"

"Anything. But it has to be loud."

"Sure." He got to his feet and climbed to the top of the dune. He took a wide stance, inflated his chest and bellowed, "ANDY LOVES KATHY!"

Several nearby ducks scattered in alarm at the volume of his declaration.

Returning to the shade of the umbrella, he chuckled at her aggravated look. "You said it could be anything. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"What's one of your most embarrassing memories? Preferably something non-squint related."

"Oh. So I can't tell you about the experiment I committed a serious error on while preparing my first doctoral thesis?"

"Tell me about it later. Right now I want to hear something juicy, Bones."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Like, when I was about 12 I went swimming with a bunch of friends and these girls followed us without us knowing. They stole our clothes and we had to ride home on our bikes, all the way through town, butt-naked. That kind of embarrassing."

"Oh." She frowned momentarily. "I was wearing clothing at the time, and it's science-related, but I believe this scenario might still apply. I was interning at a local museum as a teenager and one of my jobs was to care for the collection of arthropods and amphibians housed in the science department."

Booth cringed internally, sensing where this was going.

"I cleaned the cages one evening and went home, but forgot to properly secure the cages, I guess. The next day, I came back only to discover the rest of the museum had been invaded by frogs, toads, salamanders, moths, dung beetles, etc. …"

"Geez, Bones! Did they fire you?"

"No." She shook her head ruefully. "They reprimanded me, but the quality of my other work was sufficient to save my internship. I was, however, removed from my duties as animal caretaker. Truth or Dare?"

He speared a chunk of pineapple before answering. "Truth."

"When did you first fall in love with me? I know you said you knew when you first saw me at the university, but when did you really, you know, _know_?"

"Good question. You're gettin' the hang of this."

Her shy smile was reward enough for divulging the secret he'd been carrying for years.

"It was right after your dad's trial."

The look on her face half amused, half saddened him. She clearly hadn't realized how long he had loved her.

"Yeah, it's been a while for me," he admitted somewhat sheepishly. "What you did for Max on that stand just blew me away, Bones. You practically convicted yourself of a crime in order to save him, even when you were at war with your own instincts about his wrongdoing."

His voice turned husky. "And then, after saving your dad, you went back to the lab like it was just another day. Like you hadn't even done anything extraordinary. I dropped by to drag you out to dinner the next evening, but you were engrossed in some project, so I just stood by the door and watched without letting you know I was there."

Brennan poured herself another makeshift Margarita. "Why didn't you tell me you were waiting?"

"Because what you were doing was incredible, Bones. Piecing together a skull from thousands of tiny fragments. I didn't know—I still don't—how you could see a nose from an eye or a chin. You were so patient. So damn careful and stubborn, sliding those pieces across the table, playing with the jigsaw some murderer had invented in order to erase a person's face."

He paused, remembering. "You had this little smile on your face most of the time, like you were content. I realized then that you didn't just love the bones. You loved the people behind the fragments and you were reading their story through your fingertips."

Booth looked up from the point on the horizon he'd been concentrating on and found Brennan's eyes glistening.

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm before continuing,

"I watched you all night, until you finally put your head down on the desk and went to sleep with your head right next to the skull you'd just finished reconstructing. That's when I fell in love with you completely. I just refused to admit it for a long time afterwards."

"I didn't make it easy for you to tell me either," she said quietly. "Did I."

"No, you didn't. But I love you anyway." He kissed her knuckles. "Truth or Dare, Bones?"

"Truth." She tugged her hand back and tore open the bag of rice chips that Booth had brought for her specifically.

"If a genie popped out of a magic lamp—just go with me on this, Bones—and offered you three personal wishes—personal wishes, not "world peace" wishes—what would you ask for?"

"Can you give me an example of a wish that's allowed and one that isn't?" She crunched down on a chip.

"You can't wish to make some scientific discovery that will change history. It has to be related to your personal life. For example, I would wish that I could have seen Parker being born. I would wish that I had thought more carefully about the lives I was taking as a sniper. And I would wish that I could find a way to make you feel safe about falling in love with me."

She chewed another handful of chips before replying. "Deliberately placing rationality aside, I would wish my parents had never disappeared and that I had reacted differently when Russ attempted to parent me. I would wish for more social acuity. And I would wish to have some of your faith."

The last wish floored him. She elaborated without prompting.

"I phrased that incorrectly. I meant that I would wish to have at least some understanding of your faith. It seems to sustain you during difficult times and I find that puzzling. I would like to have a better understanding of that belief, if only because it's something important in your world and I know I have frequently misspoken and inadvertently offended you when discussing the topic. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

Brennan's eyes lit up mischievously. "I dare you to take your shirt off and let me run my hands over your chest."

"Come on, Bones. That's evil," he groaned.

"Rules are rules, you said," she insisted, setting her drink aside and sitting up. "Take it off!"

Hearing those words from her lips did strange things to his insides. He sighed and dragged the shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

"Only the chest," he warned as she scooted over to him, grinning wickedly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He closed his eyes as her nimble hands descended upon him, starting way south of where they'd agreed.

"Chest," he said through clenched teeth. "I thought you knew your anatomy, Bones. We said chest. That is _not _my chest!" He slapped her hand away from the waistline of his pants.

She laughed and Booth could just picture her smirking.

"Chest. We said chest. Those are _absssss,_" his breath hissed out as she skimmed her palms across his six-pack.

"You have such beautiful definition," she murmured.

He could imagine her lower lip tucked in between her teeth as she explored his suddenly very overheated skin, tracing a light path upward into his pecs, dragging her fingertips over his delts.

"Arms, Bones," he reminded her desperately, as she traced the muscle of his left bicep, very lightly scoring his skin with her nails. "Those are called arms. _We said chest!"_

With a frustrated sigh, she removed her hands from him. "All right. You can open your eyes now, Booth. It's safe."

"I think I'll keep them closed for a minute," he retorted, reciting Saints, FBI Agents and football players. It didn't help. His body was so tightly wound, you could pluck it like a guitar string and it would twang. "Truth or dare, squint-witch?"

"Witches don't exist," she said in her most obnoxious genius voice. "And I'm quite certain that, even if they did, there's no such combination of characteristics."

"Yeah, there is. There's an example of that rare species sitting right in front of me, practicing her black squint magic, trying to get me to snap before Week 6." He opened his eyes and glared at her. "And it's not going to work. Truth or dare?"

She retrieved her drink, looking insufferably smug. "Truth."

"Bones, you remember when Sweets made us do that damn exercise where we had to spout out the first thing that came into our heads when we heard a word?"

"You mean where you said "Whoa" and I'd say—"

"Horse," he finished. "Yeah. Remember what happened after that exercise?"

"I came to the realization that I wanted a child."

"Yeah, except I'm pretty sure you didn't just realize that sitting on Sweets' couch. You don't work that way, Bones. My guess is you'd been thinking about it for weeks, maybe months, and that exercise just kind of finally solidified things."

"Is that my truth question? How long had I been thinking of having a baby?"

"No." Booth popped open another beer. Two was his limit for this date, but he definitely needed it given where they'd come from and where they were headed.

"So, you had everything all worked out in your head. Who to ask for the donation, how to get it, the maternity leave you were gonna take, hell, Bones, you were even writing the pregnancy into that story you were reading me when I was unconscious … then you vanished off to Guatemala and everything changed."

"What's the question, Booth?"

He sighed. "Bones, you ever think of still having a baby?" He left the words he most wanted to say unspoken. _Maybe with me?_


	31. Date 6, Part E

**A/N: Part E, I believe. It's hard to keep track at this point!**

**Thanks again to my fantastic betas, Eternal Destiny 304, Skole and Stephaniew.**

**o-o-o-o-o **

Brennan reached for a beer, then reconsidered. Two Margaritas were sufficient for the direction in which this date seemed to be headed. It was important that she be clear-headed when responding to this line of inquiry. She opened a can of ginger ale, aware that Booth was awaiting her reply.

"Yes. I do still occasionally recall my desire for offspring. I'm still well-within the ideal biological window for conceiving and giving birth, without the associated risks of older mothers. And I admit that seeing other women with children leaves me feeling somewhat … unfulfilled."

His follow-up was blunt. "Then why haven't you done anything about it?"

She frowned. "We discovered your brain tumor and I suppose I postponed my plans indefinitely after seeing you undergo treatment."

"You could've gotten a donation from somebody else."

"I have already done a careful analysis of all the variables, leading me to the well-reasoned conclusion that you are the best potential sperm donor. Why would I look elsewhere for an inferior substitute?"

"Come on, Bones." He shook his head. "There are plenty of other guys out there. I'm not the only one with reasonably decent looks and good genes. Why haven't you gone looking? Knowing you, you would've gotten Angela to break the US down into some kind of genetic grid, so that you could target your want ads that way. You would've eventually honed in on the perfect genetic specimen—way better than me, probably—and had your baby a couple of years ago. Except, you didn't. Why?"

Brennan shifted on the beach towel, rearranging herself so that certain small rocks wouldn't dig into her spine quite so badly.

"I suppose my career took precedence over my desire to procreate. I have been occupied at the lab of late."

"Really, Bones? That's why you're still not a mom? Because you're busy? Sorry. I'm not buying that."

"Buying what?"

"Dammit, Bones. Why can't you just admit it?" he demanded. "Why do I have to beg?"

The rocks underneath her beach towel seemed to have multiplied impossibly. She squirmed, trying to get comfortable. "Beg for what?"

"Forget it." Booth jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the umbrella. "I thought we were answering truthfully here."

"I did answer truthfully!" she protested.

He crumpled his beer can and dropped it beside the cooler. "Sure. Okay. Whatever. I need a breather for a moment, Temperance." He stormed off across the small stretch of sand, still shirtless.

Brennan scrambled to her feet. "Wait! Why are you angry at me?"

"I'm not angry," he tossed over his shoulder.

She hurried after him. "You referred to me as Temperance. You only do that when you're upset."

"Upset, yes. Angry, no." He plowed up the mixture of sand and grass masquerading as a hill, dislodging small showers of pebbles that cascaded onto her bare legs in a stinging rain as she attempted to follow him.

"Ouch!"

Booth ignored her small yelp and the stones suddenly didn't sting as much as the back of Brennan's eyes. He was always so protective of her. For him to be ignoring even her small complaint was more than telling.

She finally caught up to him as he reached the west side of the island, which was covered in boulders, probably from reconstruction efforts. He sat down on a sizeable stone and stared at her silently. He was obviously expecting her to say something. What?

She reconsidered the bizarre conversation he had precipitated with his truth. He had asked about her desire to have a progeny. She had explained why she had temporarily postponed her efforts. He had retaliated with comments about where she could have searched for an equally good sperm donor for her baby. She'd pointed out the constraints of her busy work life, which he already knew about anyway. Then they had argued about buying something.

Frustration welled within her. "You're expecting a specific answer from me, Booth, and I don't know what it is."

He suddenly looked sad, which was worse than angry. "Why can't you just admit that you haven't tried for a baby with another guy because you only want—because you're still hoping— to have a kid with me?"

"I said that!" she exclaimed. "I said that I have considered all the variables and—"

"It's not the same, Bones." His voice was weary.

She sat down beside him. "Booth, I have no interest in soliciting sperm donations from any other parties. I've said that repeatedly. What language am I speaking?"

"Squint," he said softly, staring at his feet.

More and more she was coming to realize that some of his insecurities mirrored her own. He needed reassurance, much as she did.

"Booth, I still want offspring. You are the only person I want to father my child or children. There are many reasons, both genetic and emotional, for my preference for you as a sperm donor upon which I can elaborate if necessary. At some point, it seems that we might need to discuss your expressed desire to be involved with raising offspring with me. Parker has benefitted from your excellent parenting, and no doubt our child would as well. Is that in plain enough English for your tastes?"

"Your version of plain is my version of beautiful," he answered, finally looking at her and smiling.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you just said that, at some point, you want to have a baby with me. And that makes me really, really happy."

She dropped her head against his shoulder, relieved to have finally communicated with him clearly. Now it was her turn to ask for clarification on a certain topic.

"Truth or dare, Booth?"

"Truth."

"What does your heart gut say about me?"

He stifled a sigh. One minute she was making crystal clear sense, the next it was back to speaking in tongues.

"You wanna expand on that a little, Bones? Maybe translate? I could go all over the place with an answer on that question."

They weren't looking at each other, but he knew the expression he would see on her face as she debated how to do her version of simplifying things for a poor science plebe.

"I have observed what you call your gut-making decisions in the field. Then there are occasions that you seem to refer interchangeably to your gut as your heart, which is completely convoluted and irrational. Nevertheless, more often than not—and I am certain there is a scientific explanation that has no basis in the digestive or circulatory systems—your gut has proved correct. As such, I have come to a tentative trust of your instincts, whatever human organ you might attribute them to. I would therefore like to know what your gut says about me."

If that was simplifying things, Booth figured he'd opt for the complicated version next time.

"One more time, slowly, Bones."

She exhaled a frustrated breath. "In New Orleans, you were convinced of my innocence in spite of possible evidence to the contrary. You said, "I just know, okay? I'd bet my professional career on it." How did you know? That day outside of Sweets' office, you said you knew from the beginning. What does 'I knew' mean? How could you possibly know without interacting at all with me?"

Understanding finally began to dawn. "You want to know how I knew about you that first day at the university. Am I getting any warmer here, Bones?"

"You've grasped the intent behind my question."

"My gut came first, sure. I looked at you up there talking so confidently. You really believed in yourself, in your abilities. It wasn't just your average person lecturing about stuff in order to make money or gain prestige. Bones, believe it or not, some people actually find me intimidating! But there you were, taking me on about 3 seconds after meeting me."

Her slight laughter relieved him. At least she wasn't running.

"I knew that this was a person who could go toe to toe with me. Who would call me on my crap and not back down in the face of challenges. Someone who would stand with me if we ever ended up being the last line of defense." Booth nudged her chin up to meet his gaze.

"From that moment on, I wanted you with me, on my side. On my team. And I knew the person I finally chose to partner with would never commit the crime she was being accused of in New Orleans. Can you see where I'm coming from on this?"

Her clear blue eyes squinted slightly, as she processed his words. "Your initial reaction to me was predicated on gut-instinct. Not your heart."

"The heart came later," he agreed.

"Your gut is frequently right." She reiterated her earlier words quietly, but the impact of her statement wasn't lost on him.

He hazarded a guess at what was going on in that genius brain. "So, because it was my gut speaking, and you trust that at least to a certain degree due to empirical evidence, are you saying that I might be right about your ability to love me?"

"Perhaps."

That was enough for him. He dropped his chin to her hair, eyes momentarily closed in thanksgiving.

"Truth or dare, Bones?" It was definitely time for a break from the intensity.

"Dare."

"I dare you to run around the island wildly screaming complete squint nonsense."

"Booth," she protested, butting her head against his shoulder. "I can't just randomly scream gibberish. I wouldn't know what to say."

"Try the bones of the body. They sound like gibberish to me."

"Booth …"

"Rules are rules." He pointed at the direction they had come from. "Forward, squint!"

She muttered something under her breath that he was sure was vindictive, but it didn't matter, because she was standing, hands on her hips, glaring at the tiny island. Then she was off running, her words floating back to him on the noon breeze.

"Frontal, parietal, temporal, occipital, sphenoid, ethmoid, mandible."

She disappeared around a large boulder, but he could still hear her yelling, "Maxilla, palatine, zygomatic nasal, lacrimal, vomer."

Up a hill, "Inferior nasal conchae, malleus, incus."

Down a hill," Stapes, hyoid, scapula, acromion process, clavicle."

Over a sand dune, "Manubrium, sternum, xiphoid process."

Out of sight again. "Ribs, vertebral body, laminar, pedicle, foramen, humerus, radius, ulna."

She rounded the east end of the island and he could see her silhouetted in the distance, still running, "Scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid."

Breaking into a sprint, "Capitates, hamate, metacarpals, proximal phalanges."

Her red hair streaming as she stormed over the last hill separating them, "Intermediate phalanges, distal phalanges, coccyx, sacrum, ilium, pubic ramus, ishium, femur, patella, tibia, fibula,"

Skidding into him, panting, still reciting, "Calcaneus, talus, navicular, medial cuneiform, intermediate cuneiform, lateral cuneiform, cuboid," deep breath, _**"Metatarsal and phalanges!" **_

She collapsed on the sand, limbs spread-eagled, laughing hysterically. She looked so ridiculously cute, if Booth could have kissed her at that point neither one of them would have come up for air until the next Iron Age.

Then, as only Brennan could, she changed the complete tenor of things by sitting up, wiping the smile off her face and asking,

"Truth or dare, Booth?" It was obvious she had a question she wanted to ask him.

"Truth."

"Will you tell me the real story about the fractures on the soles of your feet?"


	32. Date 6, Part F

**A/N: Part F. **

**WARNING: This snippet of Booth's past is fairly graphic. If you can't handle violence, you may want to skip over this section.**

**A quotation that is apropos for the chapter: "You can look at a scar and see hurt or you can look at a scar and see healing." Sheri Reynolds**

**Many thanks to Skole for her medical beta. She deserves all credit for making sure the medical lingo is accurate and appropriate for the story.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan watched him fidget, scrunching his toes in the sand. She had never forgotten the X-rays she'd seen in the hospital the night Booth had taken the impact of the bomb meant for her. Occasionally, she had nightmares about her partner being tortured while she was locked away in a cell, unable to go to his aid, unable to do anything except hear him scream.

"If the topic is too sensitive, Booth—"

"No." Booth cut her off. "You asked. I have to answer. Those are the rules. It's probably something you should know about anyway. I can't give you the details of the mission like where we were, why we were captured, how I eventually escaped, or the information they hoped to extract out of me. That's still classified. But I can give you the condensed version of what happened on the inside of the prison."

He angled his shoulders away from Brennan slightly, evidently needing space but unwilling to shut her out by turning his back completely.

"In spite of the look of the injuries, it wasn't in the Middle East. I can tell you that much. It was in Africa. I suffered a head wound when we were captured, so I don't really remember the room they put me in. My eyes were filled with blood to begin with, and my head was spinning so much it was hard to see anything. I don't think it was very big."

Booth paused, clearly gathering himself before retreating further into the memory.

"I had bare feet, obviously, so I remember the cold concrete floors and walking through a puddle of somebody's fresh blood. I remember thinking it probably belonged to one of my men. There was this iron bar overhead and a chair. They made me stand on the chair and they handcuffed me to the bar. Then they kicked the chair out from under me."

Even though Brennan had known, more or less, the scenario he would describe, her stomach turned inside out hearing him mechanically describe things.

"They didn't beat me at the beginning. They just let me hang there for 15 minute increments. Then they'd let me down, ask me questions, and hang me up again when I didn't give them what they wanted. They kept telling me that if I'd just cooperate, I'd be set free. Eventually, they quit and just left me there, strung up about a foot off the ground. It felt like my shoulders and wrists were coming unhinged from the rest of my body."

_They were_, Brennan's brain screamed. Unbidden, it conjured pictures of the injuries that would have been caused by the stress being inflicted upon the skeletal system and their ligamentous connections with his muscles as gravity cruelly exerted unnatural directional force on the scapulae and clavicles. Pulling the humeral heads inexorably from the protection of the bony sockets of the shoulder joint. The pulling force echoed in the elbow and wrist joints as the resistance of the shoulder muscles were decimated by fatigue. The stretching the nerves of brachial plexus causing patches of burning fire and icy numbness following the distribution of dermatomes which wrapped around his arms.

"I guess it was an hour—felt like centuries—when they finally came back in, took me down, interrogated me, same old routine. Only this time, they made me run laps around the room endlessly. Try doing that when your arms feel like wooden blocks. Then they stripped me, strung me back up and broke out the rubber hoses."

The image of the man she loved being completely divested of his innate dignity and submitted to such agonizing pain was enough to make Brennan retch. She struggled to compartmentalize, knowing that she couldn't interrupt him.

"They started with my lower back. Right around my kidneys." He gestured. "Three, four guards at a time, taking turns with the beating. I don't even remember the hose hurting all that much, because when I swayed back and forth the pain in my wrists, elbows and shoulders went crazy.

Then they punched me in the face and mouth and broke a couple teeth before moving on to my shins and feet. They had to drag me back to the cell after each session, because my legs were so swollen I couldn't stand. The fractures in my feet caused blisters on my skin. They got infected. It went on for weeks, but I managed to keep from really screaming until I heard what they were doing to one of buddies down the hallway. That's when I lost it."

He went silent, staring out across the horizon at nothing, shoulders hunched, fists clenched.

Brennan didn't know what to do, what to say, how to react to what he had shared. She knew the physiological ramifications of the torture he'd endured, but was less familiar with the emotional repercussions he'd undoubtedly also suffered. Again, she reached back to something he had said to her early on in the partnership.

_Offer up a little of yourself, Bones._

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He felt her moving closer, stopping a few inches away.

"I had a fight with my mother the day she disappeared. I don't remember about what exactly. I think she wanted me to participate in some extracurricular activity, while I wanted to spend time working at the school laboratory."

Booth closed his eyes in pain, realizing what she was doing in an effort to show empathy with him.

"I'd like to think back and remember the day as being different, somehow, from every other day. Sometimes I wonder if I missed something—some small signal, a gesture on her part, I don't know, some small clue about what was coming. But it was just an ordinary Wednesday."

"Funny how that goes, isn't it?" Booth mused, knowing she needed a moment to gather herself before continuing. "The day I was captured seems pretty ordinary too. Blue sky. Nice weather. No clue about what was coming down the pipe."

"I stayed up late the previous night studying for an advanced chemistry exam. The teacher disliked me and I was always afraid I'd do poorly on her tests because of our personality conflict. My mother woke me up when I didn't hear the alarm clock. I guess that was unusual, come to think of it. She rarely came into my room after I turned 14. She always allowed me that space, that privacy, unless I invited her in."

The sadness in her voice was tangible.

"We had a fight about that. About her coming into my room uninvited that morning. I got dressed and went downstairs to eat. Russ and Dad had already left. Mom was washing dishes in the kitchen and we argued about what I was wearing. Then we fought about the event she wanted me to attend in the afternoon. I finished eating, grabbed my bag and left. I didn't even say goodbye to her. The last memories I have are of us fighting."

Hearing her grief was arguably more painful than being tortured in Rwanda.

"I came back after school to get ready for the event that she'd insisted I attend, but she wasn't home. Neither was Dad. I waited all afternoon until Russ came home. We waited until midnight, and then we called the police. There was no evidence to follow, but I can't help but wonder if we'd called for help earlier whether it would have changed something."

"It wouldn't have." Booth reached over and took her hand lightly, still keeping his eyes averted.

"Russ tried to take care of me, but I was hysterical. That's why I don't like to cry now. I cried so much then. I felt so guilty. I wondered if I'd driven them away by being a bratty, hormonal adolescent. I just—" her voice broke and she inhaled sharply.

"We didn't have any warning, Booth. They just vanished. I tried to go on with my life—studying, preparing for college, interning different places. Then I came home one day and Russ was gone, too. He left a note saying he loved me but that he couldn't cope any longer."

Her voice was so hollow, it left Booth feeling like he'd been gutted by a fish knife. Russ had only been a kid, but his abandonment of his little sister was unconscionable in Booth's admittedly judgmental eyes. His stomach clenched at the thought of Brennan coming home, only to find she was now completely alone in the world.

Brennan had been talking while Booth cursed Russ and the world at large for hurting her. He dragged himself back to the present.

"After that, I was shuffled from house to house. Nobody wanted me. Everything I owned was in this black garbage bag and I remember wishing I could put a picture on a wall and not worry about having to take it down in a couple days."

Booth's mind flashed to the many artifacts on display in her home and office as he realized the significance behind what he'd originally considered eccentric, squinty doodads. For her, they symbolized permanence.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Bones," he said hoarsely. "It kills me that you suffered so much all by yourself."

Surprisingly, she didn't make a comment about his irrational statement. Instead, she turned and looked at him with a sad smile. "You also suffered alone. I wish I could have been there to intervene."

He shifted the direction of the conversation, knowing they both needed another break.

"It's your turn to ask, Bones. And I choose dare."

As soon as he saw the blatant challenge on her face, Booth knew he was in trouble again.

"I dare you to kiss me."


	33. Date 6, Part G

**A/N: Part G. **

**Kudos to Eternal Destiny 304 for her help with this chapter. Amazing beta. Amazing author. Go read "The Love in the Return" to see what I mean.**

**This is the last section of Date 6. Next up, Week 3!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_I dare you to kiss me_.

Booth stifled a laugh at the triumphant look on Brennan's face. She was so sure she'd finally outwitted him. Unfortunately, wit wasn't exactly her thing.

"Okay, Bones." He stood up from the boulder. "You win. I'll kiss you. C'mere."

Triumph morphed into instant suspicion as she eyed him from her spot on the sand. Clearly, she sensed something off-kilter about the situation, but to concede her hunch without evidence would have been tantamount to admitting she was following her gut instead of her brain. Anathema to the squint, obviously.

"My back hurts," he informed her, "So I ain't bendin' down to lift you, Bones. Are you gonna come join me over here or what?"

Frowning slightly, she got to her feet and dusted the sand off herself before approaching him. When she got to within a foot, Booth reached out and drew her closer, so there was about an inch left between their bodies. That alone should have alerted her to the danger. When he finally kissed her properly, Booth had every intention of ensuring that there wasn't enough space between their bodies for an atom or even one of Hodgins' particulates.

She may have been suspicious but, as usual, Brennan missed the red flags waving in her face. She rested her hands on his shoulders lightly as he circled her slender waist with his hands.

"Close your eyes, Bones." He smiled devastatingly.

Another clear warning sign. They both knew she was immune to the wattage of his patented charm smile. Again, Brennan missed the hint. Her eyes drifted shut. The small smile on her face almost made Booth feel guilty. Almost.

He leaned in, mouth hovering predatorily above her ear and she shivered. "Don't worry, Bones," he murmured. "I won't bite. Not today, anyway …" Before she could process his meaning, he pressed his lips to the apple of her cheek and released her, backing away from the tantrum he knew was coming.

Her eyes flew open, snapping in outrage. "That's cheating! You—you are a cheater!"

"You said to kiss you," he shrugged. "I did."

Her brain was steaming all right, but not in the way he'd promised. "You know very well what my implication was, Seeley."

"Whoa," he drawled. "Breaking out the first names! You must be upset."

Booth didn't have a degree in kinesiology, but everything about Brennan's body language suggested she wanted to stamp her feet and would have if she could have found a way to justify it scientifically.

He spread his hands in an 'I'm innocent' gesture. "Sorry, Bones. You should've been more specific with your instructions. After all, I'm not a squint. My conjecture, based on available evidence, was … mistaken."

She had the cutest way of sulking—arms crossed, lips pursed, nose slightly scrunched, eyes narrowed in aggravation.

Booth finally took pity on her and snagged her arm, pulling her close again in spite of her vehement protests.

"Next date," he said, stroking her cheek, "I promise I'm gonna kiss you, Bones."

She punched his shoulder, none-too-gently. "I would like specifics."

"I promise you, Bones Brennan, that on our very next date I will kiss you, on the lips, until neither one of us can breathe." He leaned in and gazed into her eyes sincerely. "Okay?"

He could see the war going on behind her eyes—immediate sexual frustration versus romantic anticipation. The latter won out. She stopped struggling and finally relaxed against him. Her answer was half whispered as she dropped her head to his chest.

"Okay."

By mutual unspoken consent, Truth or Dare was not resumed. The intensity of the last two questions had left both partners in need of relief and they resorted to their usual back and forth banter instead, choosing to enjoy each other's company for the remainder of the day rather than doing more soul-baring. When heavy shadows finally began to linger over the landscape, they reluctantly rowed their way back to the mainland and reality.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You still have a question," Booth observed as they walked from his car toward her apartment.

For the second time that day, she punched him. "How do you _know_?"

"It's written all over your face. You're still wondering how I knew you were innocent in New Orleans."

Brennan stopped walking and turned in the middle of the parking lot to glare daggers at him. It was obvious that she considered mind-reading an invasion of privacy.

He held up his hands placatingly. "Look at it this way, Bones. Imagine that I've been accused of murdering a guy, okay?"

She looked distinctly irritated, but her silence suggested that she was at least willing to hear him out.

"Let's say the man was a pedophile," Booth began. "A known child molester, out on parole. He moves into a house a few streets down from Parker and Rebecca. We meet in the park one day, exchange words. I warn him to stay the hell away from my son. A couple days later, he's found dead, drilled through the forehead with a high-powered rifle. Would you think I was guilty, Bones?"

Her brow furrowed. "I would have to examine the evidence first."

"Okay, fine. You do your squint thing and conclude that all forensic evidence points to me. Plus, everybody knows my background as a sniper. I've got motive and means, but insist I'm innocent. Would you think I was guilty?"

"No." She shook her head.

Booth was taken aback by her instantaneous reply. He'd at least expected her to hem and haw for a few minutes.

"Why not?" he pressed. "Evidence points to me, Bones. I don't have an alibi. There are no other suspects."

"Because you're not a murderer!" she exclaimed. "You've killed, certainly, but only in socially sanctioned situations. While you're protective of your son to the extreme, your previous patterns of behavior do not support the theory that you would go outside the law in order to accomplish your goal of protecting him."

"What about the evidence?"

She dodged his question. "Booth, you _believe_ in the system. If the hypothetical pedophile threatened Parker, you would find a way to get him put back in prison!"

"The evidence, Bones," he insisted. "Isn't it always all about the evidence? In a court of law, they'd find me guilty."

"You're religious beliefs would preclude such an action on your part. Furthermore, you're an excellent father. If you were incarcerated, you would no longer be able to raise and protect your child the way you see fit."

"Rage does strange things to people, Bones. If a guy ever threatened Parker, I _would_ take him down. Believe it."

Somehow, the entire direction of the conversation seemed to have suddenly shifted, to where they were almost arguing a real-life scenario instead of the hypothetical one he had posited.

"You would find another way to achieve the same purpose, Booth. One that would not require murder."

He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked at her for a long time before speaking. "Seems like you believe in me more than I do," he finally commented quietly. "So, tell me, Bones. If even _**I**_ think I would do it, how do you know I wouldn't?"

"I just do," she said simply. And smiled.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Can I ask one last truth before we end this date?" Booth lingered at the door to her apartment.

Brennan turned from the door she'd been unlocking and waited.

"Bones … do you ever regret not going with Sully?"

"I don't know that I would call it regret," Brennan said pensively. "I'll admit to sometimes wondering how my life would have turned out differently if I'd elected to sail with him."

She touched Booth's arm, seeing him struggle to conceal the worry in his eyes. "It's irrational to speculate on what might have occurred had I gone with Sully. The fact is I elected to remain here."

"Did I have anything to do with your decision to stay?"

Maybe a year ago—even 6 months back—Brennan would have been less open in her reply. However, the gradual evolution of their relationship, particularly over the last weeks, lent itself to an ever-deepening trust and candor. Given what they had shared on the island, forthrightness now seemed both appropriate and less daunting then it might have been previously.

"Our partnership was one of the factors I took into consideration, Booth," she admitted. "I … would have missed our collaboration and our daily interactions."

He smiled, not pressing her for any more than she was ready to give, and fumbled in his pocket.

"More musical Valentines?" Brennan inquired interestedly. "Angela says that the songs are not ones you would commonly listen to, thereby indicating a degree of research on your end."

"Yeah, you might put it that way," Booth agreed wryly. "Country, pop and bluegrass aren't exactly my taste, Bones, and that's not about to change. Just pay attention to the lyrics, okay? That's the whole point. I forgot to give you one on our last date. So there's two today."

Booth held out the folded piece of paper and leaned in to brush his lips across her cheek . "Next time, Bones," he murmured, "We'll be saying goodnight a very different way."

He walked away, leaving her flushed and staring down at the two new songs he'd gifted her with.

_**I'm In-**_**Keith Urban. **

_Google it, listen to it and think of our midnight swim, Bones._

_**When You Say Nothing At All**_** –Alison Krauss. **

_After all the talking we did today, I thought this song might be an appropriate way to end the date. _

**o-o-o-o-o**

**PS: Please don't electronically lynch me because of Booth's refusal to give into Brennan. Next up—Week 3 and, yes, absolutely, positively, 1000% for certain, the kiss. **

**Just an FYI, given my negative experiences with the Catherine chapter, if I get an inbox full of flaming pitchforks that will decidedly NOT compel me to finish the next chapter … positive feedback, on the other hand, will definitely serve as impetus for finishing faster. =)**


	34. Week 3: The Heart of the Matter

**A/N: Dear readers, I give you … Week 3!**

**Hard to believe it took 34 chapters to get here, but that's just how the story unfolded. Thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for the beta, Skole for assistance with descriptions, and PosterQue for the second song suggestion.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**TUESDAY**

Booth dropped by the lab unannounced on Tuesday, hoping to drag Brennan out for a quick bite to eat. When his partner was nowhere to be found, he went looking for Hodgins.

"She's at lunch with Angela," the scientist informed him coldly, barely glancing up at him from the computer screen where he was analyzing something or other.

Wonderful, Booth groaned internally. If Brennan had stepped out in the middle of the day with her best friend, that meant definite girl-talk was being exchanged. And there wasn't much question about what—or, more specifically, who—their main topic of conversation would be.

"What's with you?" he asked curiously, as Hodgins shoved away from his desk and began storming around the room yanking open drawers and slamming them shut again. The usually congenial bug guy was being decidedly unfriendly.

Hodgins rounded on him, pinning Booth with a blue gaze so sharp it mimicked the feeling a butterfly must get while on display.

"Angela wants me to go skydiving with her. At night. Any clue where that gem of an idea came from, Agent Romantic?"

"Whoa." Booth held up his hands. "I can't help it if they're trading ideas for dates. What's so bad about skydiving anyway? I thought you were all hardcore, Hodgins."

"Oh, I'm hardcore. I am absolutely as hard core as I am malignant," he snapped. "On land. Underground. At sea! Anywhere there's a layer of sand or silt or hummus or clay or even peat that I can dig my toes into. Up there—" he pointed to the sky, "There ain't nothin' but nothin'. Dude." He shuddered. "You might as well put a psychrophile in the Sahara Desert. And next week I get to jump out of a perfectly good plane. Thanks a lot, man." The entomologist stalked away, muttering under his breath about conspiracies.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth spotted them as soon as he walked into the diner. Brennan and Angela, he'd been expecting to see. Cam, not so much. Since when did she take lunch breaks with her employees? But there they were, the Jeffersonian female three, whispering, giggling and sipping something that looked suspiciously alcoholic. Before noon.

If he'd been able to, Booth would've turned around and left before being spotted. Unfortunately, he had a mission specific to Week 3 that needed to be accomplished. He was steeling himself for the onslaught of squeals from Angela when Brennan caught sight of him.

Her face broke into a suspiciously huge smile. "Hi, _baby_!" she called loudly.

The diner staff knew Booth well and several waiters pivoted towards him, eyebrows raised. This was a development to entertain them on an otherwise routine day.

He swallowed a curse and made his way toward the back. For once, the famous gut had failed him. When she'd promised to prove how irritating the endearment could be, he hadn't seen her exacting revenge quite this way.

"Hiya, Agent Studly," Angela greeted him with a saucy grin.

Cam regarded him with an amused look and said nothing.

"How's your day going,_ baby_?" Brennan grinned evilly, her voice carefully calibrated to carry through the whole place.

He ignored her question, extracted an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. "I've got to go out of town again, to finish that training the poison ivy interrupted."

"What about Week 3?" Her smile vanished.

Booth indicated the envelope. "Everything you need is in there."

He nodded at the ladies and turned to leave as Brennan ripped open the packet.

"Wait, Booth!" Brennan stared at the contents of the envelope. "I don't know what this means!"

"You'll figure it out, _baby," _he said sarcastically, heading toward the exit.

That was a mistake. As he passed the kitchen, her voice floated back to him victoriously.

"BYE, BABY!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Dirt?" Brennan held up the Ziploc bag in bewilderment. It appeared to be solidly packed with rich, loamy earth.

Angela reached over and snagged it curiously. She unzipped it and sifted the contents. "There's something else in here," she said, tilting the bag toward Cam for confirmation.

Cam levered a spoon into the soft soil and dug out a small piece of paper. She extracted it, shook the remaining particles off and passed it over to Brennan.

"Interesting way to package a love note," she commented. "Leave it to Seeley. I was under the impression that they usually came with hearts and roses, but it's been a while."

Brennan unfolded the square of what turned out to be parchment paper.

"BENCH," she read aloud.

"That's _all_ it says?" Angela grabbed the paper and read it herself. "What …?" she passed the note to Cam.

Their boss contemplated the writing silently for a moment. "I think you might want to ask Hodgins about this," she finally suggested. "It's just a hunch, but I think I might know where Seeley is going with this."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Hodgins peered into his microscope while the three women hovered behind him impatiently. Finally, he raised his head.

"What you've got here is a mixture of cork bark and standard-issue hummus, peat and other decaying organic matter such as leaves. Nothing unusual. It's pretty much your average clump of mulch."

"Why would Booth give me common garden soil?"

"_Because_," Hodgins said with a grin, suddenly finding himself forgiving Booth, "The soil isn't what's interesting. This bag of dirt contains tetrasigma spores, from the grape family, Vitaceae."

For once, Brennan was at a loss. "And that is significant because …"

"They're vines commonly found in subtropical regions of Asia and Australia, in undisturbed rainforests."

Angela gave her husband a warning look, indicating she knew he was deliberately stringing them along.

He sighed and turned to his computer, typing quickly. "Species of this genus are known for being the sole hosts of parasitic plants in the _Rafflesiaceae_ family, one of which, _Rafflesia arnoldii, _has no roots, stems or leaves, but produces the largest flower in the world, weighing in at up to 24 pounds." He pointed at the enormous, rust-colored bloom with 5 leathery petals that he'd Googled. "The petals can be as large as 39 inches in diameter."

"It's not very pretty," Angela observed in dismay. "Kind of looks like the back end of an octopus, but with a hippo's skin. I would have expected something more … delicate."

Hodgins grinned. "Not at all. It's also notorious for being one of the worst smelling flowers in the world. People say it's comparable to rotting flesh."

"Why would Booth give Brennan a clue to a flower that smells like a body decaying?" Cam asked.

"'Cause its colloquial name is Corpse Flower, baby." He rubbed his hands in glee.

Angela and Cam stared at him in horror. Brennan laughed, feeling a distinctly unscientific warm glow spread through the pit of her stomach. Squeamish as he was, Booth had found a way to joke with her about the frequently unsavory aspects of her work.

"Where can I find this flower, Hodgins?"

"The plant is extremely rare and only blooms every 9 months, if that. But …" he turned back to his computer and Googled away, "Booth did his homework. It just so happens that the DC Botanical Gardens have one such specimen blooming right now. You better hurry, though. The bloom only lasts 3 days to a week, and this one's been blooming for 4 already. Good luck getting in to see it. Every amateur botanist in DC will be vying for a ticket."

"My publisher's husband works at the Gardens. He'll be able to get me in after hours," Brennan said. "Perhaps Booth knew that as well."

"He probably did," Angela acknowledged, still obviously miffed at what she saw as a lack of romance in the offering. "How else would he get the dirt from something that's probably so well-guarded?"

"Dr. B, you so have to let me come with you to see it," Hodgins said eagerly. "It can take upwards of 15 years to produce a bloom when grown somewhere other than its sub-tropical environs! This could be the only chance I get to see one."

Brennan nodded. "I'll go make the phone call."

"We're coming too," Angela called, darting a glance at Cam, who nodded.

"I'm _not_ missing this," the forensic pathologist added for good measure. She dropped her voice so only Angela heard. "All I ever got from him were roses!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Oh, God." Angela gagged, covering her nose with both hands as the stench of _Rafflesia arnoldii _hit her full in the face.

The huge plant was several yards away in a glass-enclosed terrarium carefully temperature-controlled for maximum humidity, but the smell was anything but contained by the enclosure.

Hodgins, on the other hand, looked positively giddy. "It evolved its horrendous odor to attract carrion beetles and flesh flies, which normally feed on rotting flesh." He pressed his face to the glass in ecstasy. "Look at the size of it!"

"Flowers attract bees without the added bonus of smelling like septic tanks," Cam said tartly, holding her own nose. "Dr. Brennan, have you figured out why we're here yet? I'm starting to get dizzy."

Brennan scrutinized a wooden bench nearby, apparently undisturbed by the overpowering odor. She crouched and began a careful examination of the slats, running her fingers over them. Not locating anything, she peered underneath. "Here it is!"

"Here what is?" Angela moaned. "It damn well better be a ring …" She staggered toward the exit with Cam following close behind. "I'm not waiting to find out, Bren. You coming?"

Hodgins remained behind, ensconced in the malodorous wonder of the rare botanical specimen, while the three women exited the building. Once they were far enough away from the smell that their eyes stopped watering, Brennan ripped open the second envelope and pulled out a sky-blue piece of paper. She read the note aloud:

_Bones,_

_I'm out of town for 3 days. Consider this our 7__th__ date. If you find the last clue before I get back, it'll tell you where and when to meet me on Friday. If not, we'll have to postpone the kiss another week …_

_~Booth_

**Approx. 5'3**

**Maybe 40 yrs old, female**

**About 150 lbs**

**Blonde hair**

**Blue contacts**

**Very round eyes, close-set**

**Thin lips**

**Round cheeks**

**Flat nose with a bump, looks like it might have been broken at some point**

**Bad acne, freckles, scar on pointy chin**

**Small head**

**Long black fingernails, way too much makeup**

**Surly looking, walks kind of hunched over, looks like she might eat little kids**

_**Spock lives!**_

Angela took the paper from Brennan. "The last clue may have been for Hodgins, sweetie, but this one is definitely intended for me. I'm supposed to sketch this oh-so-pleasant person so you can somehow track her down."

"He's sending you on a treasure hunt, Dr. Brennan," Cam explained, in case the occasionally clueless scientist wasn't getting it. "You know, one clue leads to the next which leads to the next, culminating in some kind of prize at the end?"

"It's a metaphor for your partnership," Angela added sagely. "I'll have the drawing for you by morning."

"By noon should be sufficient," Brennan replied. "I'll use my lunch break to search."

"No way," Angela said firmly. "I get that your work comes first, Bren, but I am so _not _letting you risk that kiss. Six years is long enough, sweetie. You've only got 3 days, and who knows how many clues he's hidden? I'll be at your place at 6:00 am. We'll track this woman down, get the next hint, and maybe find a clue or three before it's time for work."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**WEDNESDAY**

True to her word, Angela knocked on Brennan's door promptly at 6:00, bearing coffee and a sketch of a distinctly unfriendly looking woman.

"I've never seen this person before," Brennan said as she climbed into Angela's car. "Did you run her image through the database?"

"I doubt Booth would have sent you treasure hunting in the direction a criminal, sweetie," Angela said patiently, pulling out of the parking lot. "The note says _Spock lives_. Jack thinks it's a reference to the Washington Science Fiction Association."

"I'm unfamiliar with the organization."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Believe me, Bren, so am I. My husband, on the other hand, is your type A geek, albeit with an unusually hot body. He says it's the oldest science fiction club in the area and that the members meet the first and third Friday of each month to discuss all things alien-related and then some."

"It's Tuesday," Brennan pointed out unnecessarily.

"Like Jack said, sweetie, Booth did his homework." Angela merged onto the freeway. "Believe it or not, this is National Science Fiction Month and the WSA has events going on all day, every day, for the next couple weeks …"

Traffic was surprisingly light for the time of day and the two women soon found themselves parking beside an innocuous looking two-story with a small sign in the window reading WSA. Even if the sign hadn't been in place, the proliferation of strangely costumed individuals drifting in and out of the building should have been indication enough that aliens had landed on DC.

Angela and Brennan squeezed past a large, hairy Chewbacca and apologized hastily after bumping into an imposingly obese creature clad in white which Angela explained was supposed to be "The Blob." They edged past Klingons, ETs and various other interstellar critters on their way to the entrance. A sullen Vulcan nodded curtly to them as they passed each other.

"Live long and prosper," Brennan called after him politely.

"Sweetie!" Angela grabbed her arm. "I know Booth started you on this whole Spock infatuation, but you need to keep it in check when you're around me. It's just creepy to see my best friend getting all hot and bothered about a green-skinned guy."

"Angela, these people are members of a subculture that has become almost mainstream due to the impact of mass media. They have developed their own language, their own customs and rituals. Their own community. Though the larger society they exist in ridicules them, they are in essence no different from religious groups or motorcycle gangs. In fact, they are perhaps more stable, given that oftentimes entire multi-generational families become entrenched in the science fiction culture."

"Sure, sweetie," Angela sighed. "Let's just focus, okay?"

The building was surprisingly large on the inside, overflowing with sci fi memorabilia from the last 100 years. An odd looking, stringy-haired entity on all fours and sporting a vicious pair of fangs sidled up to them.

"They looks losssst," it hissed in a helium-accented voice. "But we can helps them. Yes, we can, Precioussss. Ticketssss. We sells ticketssss that way." It pointed a stubby finger in the direction of a long line.

"Do you know where we can find this woman?" Brennan asked, handing the creature Angela's sketch.

It perused the drawing, pausing to scratch its leathery head. "Jesssssica," it lisped. "We thinksss thissss isssss Jesssssica. We don't sssseees her out of cossstume very often, do we, Precioussss. She worksss upstairsss."

It loped away, hissing at other equally odd passersby.

"Angela," Brennan whispered excitedly, pointing at a couple in the back of the store. "I believe those two individuals are Agents Mulder and Scully. Booth explained the parallels between our respective partnerships."

Angela covered her eyes in horror. "Remind me to kill Booth next time I see him," she muttered, holding onto Brennan's elbow tightly. "Come on, Bren. The sooner we find this person, the sooner we can leave Krypton and its inhabitants to their wayward ways."

The artist dragged her best friend through the crowds, shooting down an inquisitive Marvin the Martian with a Montenegro death glare. They made their way up the rickety stairs, squeezing through a small entrance into yet another museum full of intergalactic trinkets.

"Do you know this person?" Angela shoved her sketch in a nearby Ewok's face.

"Goopa, luu luufi," it squeaked. "Meechoo nuv chyasee!"

She crouched in front of the endearingly furry little creature. "If you even think of answering again in a language other than English, I'll feed you to Jabba the Hut," she warned.

"Behind the counter." The Ewok pointed and scurried away.

Angela straightened and eyed the woman standing behind the counter, sorting through a stack of plastic-wrapped comics. "That's our girl, all right."

Booth's description matched the woman to a T, minus the lip ring and neck tattoo.

"What circles was Booth running in when she met _this _chick?" Angela whispered. "She looks like Cruella DeVil crossed with Baba Yaga and the Wicked Witch of the West. Go talk to her, Bren."

"What do I say?"

"Ask her if Booth dropped off a package." Angela gave her a firm shove. "Hurry up. My hair is starting to frizz from all the geek vibes floating around this place."

Brennan approached the woman. "Excuse me?"

Cruella glanced up and glared at her silently, her powdered white skin glowing eerily in the room's dim light.

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. My partner, Agent Seeley Booth may have left something with you for safekeeping."

Still scowling, the woman reached behind her and extracted an envelope from the dark recesses of an overflowing shelf. She tossed it across the counter to Brennan without further acknowledgment and went back to her task.

**o-o-o-o-o**

It proved surprisingly difficult for Brennan to compartmentalize her curiosity about the treasure hunt. As she worked on identifying the remains of a late 17th century unknown who had been unearthed at a location that dated back to the Bohemian Phase of the Thirty Years War, her mind occasionally drifted to the third clue.

Angela, Hodgins and Cam had been unable to help her with this particular hint, so she was left to her own devices. Before beginning work that morning, she'd Googled various numerical combinations, with no luck. Perhaps the numbers were a code. Or an algorithm, although that was unlikely, given Booth's dislike of the sciences.

"Lunchtime, Bren!" Angela breezed into the bone room. "Step away from the dead guy and start thinking about the big, strong, _live _FBI Agent who wants to jump your bones the minute you finish this treasure hunt. Any luck solving the latest puzzle? I know you've been thinking about it," her friend teased.

Brennan discarded her latex gloves, removed the note from her lab coat pocket and considered the numbers again.

**1615919151492225**

Angela grabbed Brennan's shoulder and steered her in the direction of her office. "My guess is you'll need a pad and paper to work this out, sweetie. Here you go. And I'll let you know when it's time to get back to work, so don't worry about keeping track of minutes and seconds."

Brennan settled down on her couch with the sandwich Angela had provided, paper, pen and the clue.

"Don't over think things," the artist called as she departed. "Booth is brainy, but not in a squint kind of way. Oh, and I already checked—there are no working phone numbers or zip codes lurking in the mix."

**16-15-9-19-15-14-9-22-25**

Thoughtfully, she began by dividing the numbers up into threes.

**161-591-915-149-222-5**

.

None of the numbers meant anything to her, and she suspected that the 5 shouldn't be on its own. There was some kind of a pattern here. She tried again, switching to pairs.

**16-15-91-91-51-49-22-25**

Several minutes of arbitrary Googling yielded nothing. She continued methodically trying out various sequences, based on logical groupings of the numbers, but continued to come up blank. Time slipped away from her and Angela was suddenly back in her office.

"Anything?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Brennan mused. "However, I know someone who has more time than I do and is even more mathematically adept."

She was certain that the answer was staring her in the face, and would have ordinarily enjoyed solving the puzzle on her own, but Angela was right. Time was limited. She reached for the phone and left a voicemail before heading back out to the lab.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Her cellphone rang just as she was wrapping up for the day. A quick glance at caller ID made her smile.

"Dr. Brennan, I've solved your mystery, but the answer means nothing to me." Zack Addy's voice filtered through the receiver.

Her former intern was finally being allowed phone privileges again after his latest escapade to the Jeffersonian, where he had, yet again, helped the team solve a baffling mystery before being summarily escorted back to the loony bin by an irate Sweets.

"What's the solution, Zack?"

"It was absurdly straightforward, actually. I must admit, in spite of your advice to keep it simple, that I wasted a great deal of time on mathematical constructs that Agent Booth has, in all likelihood, never even heard of. The code is childishly uncomplicated, so much so that I suspect his son may have helped him design it. When paired correctly, the numbers correspond to the letters of the alphabet. They spell the words poison ivy**.** You mentioned in your latest letter that you and Booth suffered from a case of contact dermatitis several weeks ago, so I presume this is his way of being amusing. Is that information at all helpful, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, Zack, it is," Brennan assured him. "I'm still not entirely certain how poison ivy is intended to lead me to the next clue, but it's a step in the right direction."

She hung up after chatting briefly with him, promising to keep him updated as to how the treasure hunt was coming.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"The answer is poison ivy," Brennan announced, interrupting Hodgins and Angela mid-kiss in the entomologist's office. "Do either of you know what it means?"

"My specialty is plants," Hodgins shrugged, unembarrassed at being caught getting handsy, "But somehow I don't think that's the direction Booth is headed."

Angela grimaced. "Corpses and poison ivy. You and Booth are so meant for each other, sweetie."

"Poison Ivy is a comic book character. Does that help any?" 

All three turned toward the door in surprise as Lance Sweets stuck his head into the office.

"Sorry to eavesdrop," the lanky psychologist smiled, "I thought I'd stop in and find out where you and Agent Booth have been hiding, Dr. Brennan. You've missed our last three sessions."

Brennan had no intention of sharing the new developments in her relationship with Booth until they had had a chance to discuss things privately.

"Booth is out of town for a training until Thursday. We should be able to make next week's session."

Sweets grimaced. "I've heard that before. So, what's with the poison ivy bit?"

Brennan shot Angela a warning look.

"Parker's birthday is coming up and Booth has him running around on a treasure hunt. We're trying to help him figure out what the clue poison ivy means," the artist adlibbed swiftly.

"Poison Ivy is one of Batman's enemies," he explained, eager to help. "Her most recent appearance was in—"

"Batman and Robin," Hodgins filled in, slapping his forehead. "Of course! How could I forget?"

"Uma Thurman," the men chorused together, all but drooling.

The women looked at each other in amused derision.

"I'm thinking video store," Angela suggested. "Maybe there's something hidden in the DVD case."

"There are dozens of such stores in the city," Brennan objected. "How will we narrow the search sufficiently?"

"Go with the one Booth frequents," Sweets advised. "One near his apartment, maybe?"

Brennan departed, leaving Sweets to trade looks with Angela and Hodgins.

"They must really think I'm totally brain dead," the psychologist said dryly. "Or deaf. Like I haven't heard the rumors about them dating?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan speed-dialed Angela from the video store 45 minutes later. It had taken her two tries to find the correct location.

"Sweets was right. The clue was in the DVD case, which Booth had a friend hold behind the counter for me."

"What's it say?" the artist asked anxiously. "You're running out of time, Bren. Tomorrow's the last day."

Brennan glanced at the index card she was holding.

**Ingredients **

_4 pounds Granny Smith apples, peeled, quartered, and cored _

_1 lemon, zested _

_1 orange, zested _

_2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice _

_1 tablespoon freshly squeezed orange juice _

_1/2 cup sugar, plus 1 teaspoon to sprinkle on top _

_1/4 cup all-purpose flour _

_1 teaspoon salt _

_3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon _

_1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg _

_1/8 teaspoon ground allspice _

_Pie dough (fresh is best, frozen works too)_

**Directions**

_Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F._

_Cut each apple quarter in thirds crosswise and combine in a bowl with the zests, juices, 1/2 cup sugar, flour, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice._

_Roll out half the pie dough and drape it over a 9- or 10-inch pie pan to extend about 1/2-inch over the rim. Don't stretch the dough; if it's too small, just put it back on the board and re-roll it._

_Fill the pie with the apple mixture. Brush the edge of the bottom pie crust with the egg wash so the top crust will adhere. Top with the second crust and trim the edges to about 1-inch over the rim. Tuck the edge of the top crust under the edge of the bottom crust and crimp the 2 together with your fingers or a fork. Brush the entire top crust with the egg wash, sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sugar, and cut 4 or 5 slits._

_Place the pie on a sheet pan and bake for 1 to 1 1/4 hours, or until the crust is browned and the juices begin to bubble out. Serve warm._

"It's a recipe for apple pie."

"The diner!" Angela cried immediately.

"The same thought had occurred to me," said Brennan, getting into her car. "I'm on my way."

"I'll meet you there, Brennan. This is getting interesting."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"It's a piece of pie," Angela said lamely, staring at the cinnamon-dusted dish in front of them.

"Booth said to keep it in the fridge and give it to the hot scientist lady," the waiter retorted defensively. "I can't help it if it's not what you're looking for. If you'll excuse me, I've got customers waiting."

They sat down at an unoccupied table and contemplated the dessert before them. It looked like your average piece of overly-sweet diner pie, minus ice cream, plated on a white dish.

"Maybe the clue is inside?" Brennan suggested, picking up a fork and beginning to dissect the flaky pastry.

"He had the chef bake a clue into the pie? I don't think so." Angela reached out and stopped the surgical operation in progress. "Even Booth doesn't have that much pull, Bren. Let's think about this."

"Perhaps it's not the dessert that's the clue," Brennan said slowly. "He's always asking me to try a piece of pie. It could be a joke."

"You mean kind of like a red herring?" Angela frowned.

"I don't know what that means." Brennan looked around the diner. "But I believe I know where the next clue is hidden."

She stood up and made her way over to the table she usually occupied with Booth. An elderly couple smiled up at her.

"Would you mind if I looked under the table?" Brennan asked. "The man that I am currently in the process of beginning a culturally ritualized romantic relationship with has created an exercise designed to lead me to his location tomorrow night. I believe my next clue is somewhere in the vicinity of your table."

"Please, go right ahead." The old woman gestured amiably and turned to her husband, not fooled in the slightest by Brennan's posturing. "Randolph was pretty romantic in his day, weren't you, darling? You remember when …"

Brennan tuned out their reminiscing and explored the underside of the table. Finding nothing, she stood and began to methodically examine the condiments, the vase of fake flowers, the mini-menu of desserts.

"When I was dating Becky, I would have hidden it inside here," Randolph commented, pushing his bottle glasses higher onto his nose and lifting the napkin holder. He carefully pried the back open and held it up for her inspection. "Right there."

She removed the slightly smashed object with care.

"What is it, dear?" Becky inquired.

Brennan stared at the carefully folded napkin-origami construction. "A dolphin."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**THURSDAY**

She loved her work, but the day at the lab had never crawled by more slowly for Temperance Brennan. When noon finally arrived, she dropped everything and made a beeline for the parking lot, where Angela was already waiting impatiently.

"I'll drive," Angela announced. "You think about where in the aquarium the clue might be hidden."

"There are no dolphin exhibits. The gift shop?" Brennan wondered aloud as they headed towards Constitution Avenue.

"Could be." Angela glanced in her rearview mirror, assured herself that there were no cops around, and accelerated through a red light. "He wouldn't have left it with that marine biologist, would he?"

"That is unlikely," Brennan answered coldly.

Angela looked over and spotted the cloud that had descended on her best friend's face. _Oops. Guess that means the Florida Everglades Exhibit just got eliminated. She doesn't want him thinking of Catherine. He won't want her thinking of Sully._

"Sorry. I didn't mean—Booth would never—he loves _you, _Bren. Catherine was never even in the game."

"It's not in the aquarium," Brennan said suddenly, leaning forward.

"What?" Angela asked in surprise, glancing at the clock. 20 minutes gone already. "Where am I headed then?"

"Pull over," Brennan ordered, grabbing her cellphone. She speed-dialed a number as Angela pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store.

"Hodgins, I'm sorry to be interrupting your lunch. Can you Google any mentions of St. Magnus of Avignon in DC? Are there any churches by that name?"

"St. Magnus?" Angela mouthed in confusion.

"It's a reference to the first case we worked together," Brennan explained as she waited for Hodgins to get back to her. "The particulates embedded in Cleo Eller's skull included diatomaceous earth, which came from Ken Thompson's fish tank. Using the book found in Oliver's apartment, Hodgins informed us that St. Magnus of Avignon was the Patron Saint of Fishermen. The fact had no actual relevance to the case, but Booth would have remembered it due to his religious inclinations." *

"Sometimes the way your brain works terrifies me, and now you've got Booth thinking the same way," Angela muttered. "Brilliant, sweetie. Just tell me where to drive."

"Dr. B?"

Brennan put Hodgins on speaker.

"I couldn't find any references to St. Magnus in DC, but St. Andrew is also considered a Patron Saint of fishermen. There's a St. Andrew's Society of DC on Water Street. It isn't religiously affiliated—something to do with Scottish heritage, I think."

"I'm driving," Angela informed him, starting the engine. "What's the address?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

A friendly, rotund man clad in an authentic tartan kilt greeted them as they raced into the building.

"Can I help you, lassies?"

"Did FBI Agent Seeley Booth leave anything here for Dr. Temperance Brennan?" Angela demanded.

"Aye," the man beamed. "He did leave somethin' just last week. Said you'd be stoppin' by for it. Which one of you is his lady love?"

Brennan's eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Is that what he called me?"

"Nay," he said calmly, rooting around in a cabinet. "But tis the impression I got, for sure." He held out an envelope. "Here ya go, lass. Your young man sets great store by ya, I'd say. Written all over his face when he asked me to keep this," he called after the departing women. "Best wishes for a happy life together!"

Brennan refused to look at the clue on the drive back, insisting it would distract her from work. It's not like Cam would've minded if they'd been a couple minutes late, but Angela's crazed driving managed to get them back to the lab, miraculously still in one piece, at exactly 1:00 pm.

**o-o-o-o-o**

Cam, Sweets—who had mysteriously appeared at the Jeffersonian at the close of the workday—Angela and Hodgins hovered curiously and Zack waited on speakerphone as Brennan opened the envelope. Much as she cherished her privacy, she couldn't very well deny them access to the clue after all the help they'd given her.

She held up a photograph. "It's a picture of Jupiter."

"Why Jupiter?" Zack asked.

"He guessed it was my favorite planet," Brennan said vaguely.

Cam jumped into the conversation. "The Einstein Planetarium is where you want to go, Dr. Brennan. There's an entire section on Exploring the Planets before you get to the actual IMAX theater."

"I'm coming!" Angela reminded Brennan unnecessarily.

"I just bought a minivan to ferry around Michelle and her friends," Cam said. "Any takers?"

The caravan of squints, Sweets included, trooped down to the parking lot and piled in. Twenty minutes later they entered the Planetarium, paid for tickets, and made a beeline for the exhibit in question.

"What are we looking for?" Hodgins asked, scanning the Jupiter section.

"Places you can hide an envelope," Angela answered from underneath a bench.

Hodgins spotted an over-eager security guard on his way to ruin their party and headed over to distract him with Sweets in tow.

"Dr. Brennan?"

She felt her way around the steel railing at the edge of the display, acknowledging Cam with a vague nod. "Yes?"

"You're looking in the wrong place," the forensic pathologist said. "The clue won't be in the Planetary Exhibit. Booth was only intending to get you to the actual museum. I think he'll have placed the next hint somewhere in the display on the Sun."

"Why the Sun?"

"It's the brightest star in our solar system. The Earth revolves around it."

"I'm aware of those basic scientific tenets, Dr. Saroyan," Brennan pointed out. "How does that apply to the treasure hunt?"

"I know how Seeley thinks," Cam said, "And I would strongly suspect that you, Dr. Brennan, are the metaphorical Sun to his Earth."

Angela squealed from her spot on the floor. "She's right, Brennan! Corpses, Poison Ivy, recipes-it's about time Booth got romantic with this game."

"I thought the dolphin was very romantic," Brennan protested, turning in the direction of the Sun's display.

Cam and Angela followed in her wake as she resumed her methodical search, concentrating her efforts near a large photographic collage of Earth juxtaposed next to the Sun. Sure enough, she located a red envelope taped to the back. This one wasn't as flat as the rest.

She opened it carefully and peered inside.

"What is it?" Angela begged.

Brennan tilted the envelope so that two small objects slid into her palm. The first was a Hershey's kiss, drawing simultaneous sighs from her friends.

"I presume this is a couched metaphor for the anticipated end to our date?" Brennan said archly, raising an eyebrow in amusement at Angela, who pretended to swoon.

The second item was wrapped in dark red felt. With Cam and Angela breathing down her neck, she peeled the fabric away to reveal a delicately carved wooden heart, as anatomically perfect as a carving could be. A leather cord threaded through a small loop turned the carving into an exquisite pendant.

"Bren," Angela breathed, "There's gotta be a note left in that envelope. No way he gives you something like that without explaining."

Brennan looked in the envelope again and spotted a piece of paper. She extracted the note and unfolded it.

_Bones,_

_You and Parker are my heart. You're the left ventricle, he's the right. _

_Without both of you, my blood stops pumping. _

_I love you, always._

_~Booth_

_Meet me on Friday at 8:00 pm, by the steps outside of Sweets' office._

The scientist wasn't given to emotional displays in front of others, but there was no avoiding the tears that suddenly filled her eyes as she sank down onto a nearby bench and read the note again. And again. And again.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**FRIDAY EVENING**

**7:57 PM**

"Hold on, Jack," Angela called as they prepared to depart the lab for a romantic weekend her husband promised would outdo any of Booth's efforts. She answered her chirping cellphone while pulling on her coat.

"Angela, where's Bones?"

"Booth!" She glanced at the clock on the wall. **7:57. **"Aren't you and Brennan supposed to begenerating fireworks in a very public place right about now?"

"Where's Bones?"he repeated, sounding borderline frantic.

"She left over an hour ago to meet you. Where are you calling from?" she asked. "Booth, please tell me you're standing on those steps waiting. Brennan is going to be there in about three minutes."

'Frantic' climbed the rafters of Booth's voice into full-out frenzied. "I've been stuck behind a bike wreck for the last hour and a half, right outside of town, and she's not answering her phone."

"She left it in my office when she was running around trying to get ready."

"I called half the Jeffersonian and nobody answered!"

"Cam had us in a VIP meeting and you know what's she like about cellphones ringing when we're supposed to be schmoozing." Angela's blood turned to ice. "Oh my God, Booth, Brennan was trying so hard not to show how excited she was … if she gets to those steps and you're not there …"

Hodgins stuck his head in the door and raised his eyebrows quizzically. "What's up?"

"_Angela, you have to get to her and make her wait!"_ Booth was shouting, swearing, audibly slamming his fist into some part of the SUV. "She says she doesn't believe in bad luck but if I'm not there in a couple of minutes, that's exactly what she'll think my absence means. She'll freak out and bail me. I may never get this chance again. _You have to get there before she leaves!"_

"I'm leaving right now." She snapped the phone shut and stared at Hodgins in horror. "How fast can you make it from here to the FBI building in the Mini-Cooper?"

"15 minutes, maybe …" Hodgins' expression shifted as the pieces fell into place. "Booth got held up somewhere, didn't he. And Brennan's going to cut and run if she gets there and he's not waiting. Shit." He grabbed his wife by the arm. "Come on. I'll find a way to make it in less than 10."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**9:43 PM**

As Booth hurtled the SUV into an illegal parking spot, he spotted her standing at the top of the steps with Angela and Hodgins on either side. He jumped from the vehicle and hit the ground running.

"Bones!"

Brennan turned at the sound of his voice and moved away from Angela and Hodgins, toward the edge of the landing. It was hard to know whether his pulse sped up because he was afraid that she'd use his lateness as an excuse to shut down emotionally, or because she was so damn beautiful.

Her hair was parted on the side and hung in loose copper waves over her shoulders. She was wearing a sleeveless jade green dress, her arms and shoulders exposed by the barely-there straps, her curves suggested, rather than displayed, by the long, elegant fall of the fabric and the twisted ropes of material that accented the bodice. Booth longed to run his fingers along those raised braided lines, eyes closed, following them like a blind man would a Braille pattern, until they led him to where he was meant to be.

Booth stopped four steps below her, heart pounding. "Bones, I'm so sorry."

It came down to all or nothing, he realized then. This was their moment and they'd either grab it and hang on for dear life, or let it pass and go their separate ways. Words tumbled through his brain—explanations, excuses—but what he finally said wasn't at all what either of them expected.

"Bones." He spoke softly, holding her gaze. "I've never lied to you before, and I'm not gonna start tonight. I know you're afraid. I'm not saying you don't have good reason to be."

He watched her for signs of a reaction. Brennan was silent, arms crossed in front of herself, keen blue eyes tracking him warily. Booth took a step up toward her and she didn't move away.

"Things will never be easy for us if we take this step. We're as similar in terms of stubbornness as we are different in what we believe. We already fight about work, family, politics, religion—everything—and that's not about to change. If we ever have a kid, we'll definitely fight about raising him."

Still no response from her, but at least she was listening.

"You're not going to give up your career and neither am I, so that's something we'll have to contend with when the world pulls us different directions. You might end up at the North Pole digging up the magic bone that links human beings to arctic chimpanzees, while I'm blowing away bad guys from a submarine."

He wondered if he was imagining the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"It won't be easy, Bones. If I wanted easy, I'd have gone looking somewhere else years ago. I said it before. I'm that guy." Booth took another step, narrowing the distance between them to two steps. "The guy who fell in love the day we met and has only fallen deeper ever since."

One more step. He was standing directly below her now, desperately wondering what was going through her brain.

"You're everything good in this messed up world, Temperance. Knowing you're around makes it worthwhile putting on crazy socks and ties even on days when I'm tired and just want to give up and become a drone."

That was definitely a smile in her eyes. Booth's pulse pounded in his ears.

"I don't want to spend my life wondering what might have been because we were both afraid, Bones. Your heart is open, even if you don't see it yet. I'm willing to take the gamble that you _will_ one day love me."

He took the last step and stood beside her, barely a foot away.

"What do you say, Bones? Will you take two steps forward and trust me to catch you like that parachute did?"

"Okay."

She spoke so softly that Booth almost didn't hear her. Except he did.

The breath rushed out of him and he found himself reaching for the stair rail. "Bones … really?"

"Yes."

Booth stood there stupidly, within arm's reach of everything he'd ever wanted, unable to move.

"You're wearing the necklace." For some reason that seemed important for him to notice.

The smile reached Brennan's lips at last, spreading across her face like a star gone nova. Blinding in its brilliance. She twisted the pendant sideways, exposing the notch at the base of her throat—supra something, Booth remembered vaguely—and directed a look at him that required no fancy words in squint.

"Rules are rules, Booth. And I believe we have now arrived at the point in the experiment where you can kiss me."

He moved forward in some kind of daze, reaching out to grasp her shoulder with one hand while with the other he brushed her hair away. His fingertips lingered on her collarbone, tracing their way across the graceful line of her clavicle until they came to the small, enticing hollow where the necklace had rested. Brennan tipped her head back trustingly, and Booth was lost.

He dropped his arm to her waist. His hand slid from her shoulder to her neck, cupping the nape gently as he bent forward and pressed his lips to the pulse point,. The softness of her skin, coupled with Brennan's sigh, caused fireworks to explode in the innermost recesses of Booth's brain.

Her hands tangled in his hair, urging his mouth closer to her skin. His mouth trailed hot, open kisses into the juncture of shoulder and neck, following the slender column of her throat upward and into the satin skin just beneath her jaw.

"You're so beautiful …" the words whispered out of him as he lifted his head to kiss her eyes, her temples, the tip of her nose, tracing the curve of her full lips with a fingertip before resting his forehead against hers and smiling crookedly. His breathing was shallow and accelerated; his heart felt like it was about to thump clean out of his chest; his self-control was hanging by a very thin thread. But he wanted her to know she was in control here.

"Tell me what you want, Bones," he rasped. "At this point I'll give you anything."

She smiled slightly. "Two steps forward should suffice." And her lips met his.

The moment their mouths touched, any kind of imagined self-restraint evaporated. Booth dropped both arms to lock around her waist, dragging Brennan against him. Her lips were soft, yielding, at the same time that they were demanding, opening beneath his and inviting his tongue in even as she tugged at his lower lip gently with her teeth, insisting on equal access.

Booth explored the sweet corners of her mouth, gliding across the surfaces of her teeth to tease the roof of her mouth, groaning when she punished him for that torture with a hot, drawing suction around his tongue that made him see all seven colors of the rainbow plus some that had yet to be named.

"Bones …" his voice was a low warning growl as one hands slid to his shoulders, using the pressure of her nails for additional leverage, while the other dug in beneath his belt buckle.

Booth chuckled darkly into her lips, hands dropping to cup her beautiful backside and press her closer still. "Two can play the same game, baby." This elicited a groan as he warred with her mouth, biting, sucking, pulling back slightly to tease before delving back in.

He dragged his mouth away momentarily to kiss his way across her shoulders, sweeping her hair aside to linger at the base of her neck, delighting in making her gasp as he discovered the sensitive spots behind each ear before returning to her lips and devouring everything she offered so willingly.

Oblivious to gawkers on the street, they explored what had been so long denied to them, kissing until Booth's promises were more than fulfilled—both their brains were steaming and the partners traded shifts coming up for air, then returning again and again for more of the same.

"God, Bones," he whispered into her hair when he'd at last managed to lift his head long enough to see the light of day, "If this is what just kissing you is like, what's Week 6 gonna do to me?"

Her happy, teasing laughter only compelled him to dive back in again.

They kissed their way down the steps and into his SUV, returning to each other in frantic need at every red light and stop sign. They kissed their way across the parking lot at her place and into the elevator, pulling the emergency stop just so they could have a couple more unrestrained minutes before arriving at her doorstep.

She looked so beautiful with her eyes sparkling, lips swollen and hair mussed, it was all Booth could do to kiss her one last time and shy away from the temptation of the bedroom a few feet away. They weren't ready for that step emotionally, even if physically they were already halfway to horizontal and then some.

Booth tugged his lips away, sighing at the disappointed look on Brennan's face. He wrapped her in his arms, pressing her into his chest so she could feel the acceleration of his heartbeat and know how she was affecting him. Now that the shields were apparently down, Brennan had no reservations to twining herself around him and holding on tight as Booth attempted to regain some kind of modicum of self-control. There wasn't an inch of her that he'd kissed tonight that wasn't softer than sin. If he allowed himself to think about the places his lips hadn't been yet, his brain would likely implode instantly.

There were reasons Booth believed in a Higher Power. It allowed himself to finally peel away from her, even if he did drop back in for a couple of lingering, softer kisses, and to hand her the latest musical Valentines.

"Two for tonight," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep himself from reaching for her again. "Since it was our first kiss."

He backed away from her, eyes locked with hers.

She'd been silent most of the evening, incapable of expressing the emotions roiling within, but she called out to him as he left, attempting to share her feelings in the only way she knew how, "Phase one of the experiment has met with success, Booth. I found our interactions tonight extremely arousing."

Booth stopped his retreat and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was noother way to describe his dark gaze than smoldering. He started toward her again and she met him halfway. He pressed her up against a random doorway and kissed her senseless once more before muttering several curses under his breath and pulling away.

"I love you, Bones. I'll make the next 3 weeks worth it, I promise." _I'll make a whole lifetime worth it_, he added silently.

Brennan watched him until he disappeared completely into the stairway before looking at the songs.

_Let's just kiss_—Harry Connick Jr.

_The best is yet to come—_Frank Sinatra

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: **

***kind of nervous here …* There was so much build up to the moment. I would love to know if you thought I did it justice. I would equally love not to lose half my readers now that the kiss has occurred! I promise, there's plenty ahead. However, I **_**will **_**be honest and say that when we do hit Week 6 I'm going to keep that scene rated a high T, not MA. It'll be like the above, minus some more clothing. But I don't do graphic, full-on sex descriptions. Just an FYI. **

**PS: Anybody wondering how long Angela and Hodgins hung around watching? ;)**

**On my profile page, I will attempt to post a link of Brennan in the dress she's wearing on the steps.**

o-o-o-o-o-o

***Referring back to the part of this chapter where Brennan and Angela are chasing down the clue after the dolphin-okay, so technically it was their second case together, given the backstory we learned in Episode 100, but 'first case' sounds more romantic.**


	35. Hodgela Musings on Week 3

**A/N: I'm working on many more B&B scenes, never fear. In the meantime, I thought some insight into what Hodgins and Angela saw might be interesting … consider this a kind of flashback to the beginning of Booth and Brennan's meeting on the steps. Many thanks to the brilliant Eternal Destiny 304 for the beta work!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jack Hodgins had a nosy streak. It fed his appetite for conspiracy theories galore, along with providing a perfect backdrop to the investigative work he did for the Jeffersonian. However, the entomologist had a malignant, tough guy rep to uphold. As such, his curiosity about the unfolding Booth/Brennan relationship had been kept mostly under wraps.

It would have required a significant extortion attempt to get him to reveal how intrigued he was about the recent developments in the partnership. Luckily, Angela was a perfect cover. If they had to stand and gawk at Booth and Brennan getting it on in front of the Hoover Building, Hodgins could blame it all on his nosy wife …

They watched as Booth's SUV careened around the corner and came to a screeching halt in a fire lane. Their eyes remained glued to the FBI Agent as he jumped out of the vehicle, shouting his partner's name. When Brennan moved away from them, Angela grabbed Hodgins' hand and dragged him to the far corner of the landing, still watching Booth as he took the steps two at a time.

Angela let out a shriek of dismay when Booth stopped just below Brennan, a sound which Hodgins quickly muffled by clamping his free hand over her lips. Not like it mattered anyway. The partners' eyes and ears were obviously only for each other. The scientist stared at Booth like he was some kind of amazing anthropological finding; the FBI Agent's gaze said he'd go after Brennan like a fugitive on the run if she tried to leave. Hodgins half wished she'd try, just to see the chase. He suspected Booth would have flat out tackled her to the concrete. That would've been seriously _sweet …_

Hodgins didn't get to hear Booth's speech in its entirety. Too much of it was punctuated by Angela's muffled squeals, sighs and other expressions of ecstasy. His hand was being painfully pulverized in her grip, but he didn't dare say a word to interrupt his wife's vicarious pleasure at the scene unfolding before them. For the little bit he did hear, Hodgins had to give the guy mad props in spite of the sky diving thing. Booth had Brennan's thought process down to a science, pre-empting every possible excuse she could have come up with for not being with him.

When the pair finally departed, Hodgins turned to Angela. His better half was completely goo-goo eyed, staring off into the distance as her plans for Brennan's romantic future finally emerged from the chrysalis where they'd long been incubating.

"Did you know falcons are rumored to mate on the wing?"

She dragged her eyes away from the departing SUV. "What?"

Hodgins stifled a grin. She sounded adorably grumpy at not being able to follow the couple home.

"They don't actually mate in mid air. That's a myth born from spectacular displays of aerial courtships. In order to stake her claim on a male, the Myrddin female falcon launches herself into the air, aiming her body directly at her chosen mate, basically in a flying tackle. Sometimes an inexperienced female is rougher than necessary and stuns the male, so he tumbles in mid-air and she has to swoop down and catch him with her talons."

Angela frowned. "Booth isn't exactly inexperienced, if that's where you're heading with this, Jack."

"He is when it comes to dating women like Brennan," Hodgins replied. "Any guy would be. And I'd say Brennan has sent our G-man tumbling more than once over the last five years." He wrapped his arm around Angela's waist and began ushering her in the direction of their car.

"Anyway, then the female Myrddin flies back up and releases the male, and they repeat the same thing over and over again, locking talons and spiraling toward the ground in a death grip, pulling apart only at the very last minute only to start again from the highest point they can fly."

Angela stopped their advance toward the parking lot and gazed into her husband's eyes soulfully. Again, he hid a smile, knowing what was more than likely going through her head.

"Finally, the female flies away, deliberately inviting the male to give chase. She uses her feminine wiles to evade him, not willing to submit to a potentially unworthy suitor. The male's persistence is rewarded when he catches her and they mate for life."

"Oh, Hodgie," Angela sighed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Did I stun you?"

"Maybe just a little," he teased, linking his own arms behind her waist. "Luckily you have a pretty good grip, baby. You stopped me just before I fell to Earth."

Jack Hodgins was a betting man. And he would've gambled serious street cred, coupled with cold hard cash and the coveted title of King of the Lab, on his own little scene with Angela outdoing Booth and Brennan's.


	36. Further TruthTelling

A/N: **Getting the dialogue right for the phone conversation proved surprisingly difficult, so I am indebted to Skole and Eternal Destiny 304 for their beta work and encouragement on this piece. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Tell me about the night I died, Bones."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth should have slept like a rock. The treasure hunt had required serious after-work hours to set up, the training had been endless and boring, and the traffic jam had sent his blood pressure up into the stratosphere. Couple that with all the energy expended worrying about whether Brennan would still be waiting, the jolt when he'd seen her still there, the insane rush when they'd finally kissed … yeah, Booth should definitely have been able to close his eyes and tune out the world in about 3 seconds. Except he couldn't.

After two hours of tossing and turning in bed, he gave up and reached for the phone. The initial conversation was sweetly awkward and stilted, as they both tried to figure out how to verbally respond to each other now that they'd reached this new level of physical intimacy.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He didn't bother turning on lights before dialing.

"Guess who?"

"My phone has Caller ID, Booth."

Just hearing her typical rationalizationmade him smile in the darkness. "If it didn't, you wouldn't know it was me?"

"Of course. I would recognize your vocal intonation."

A distinctly jazzy tune playing in the background caught Booth's attention.

_You think you've seen the sun, but you ain't seen it shine …_

He grinned and propped himself up against a big pillow. "Are you listening to one of my musical valentines, Bones?"

"Yes. I am familiar with a large part of the Sinatra canon, but have never heard this_."_

"Your musical education is seriously incomplete. That right there is classic Sinatra, Bones. How can you say you like jazz if you've never heard _The Best? _ Next time you listen to it, I'll make sure we're dancing."

"What'cha doin', Bones?" It sounded like cabinets were being opened and closed.

"Making a late dinner. I didn't eat prior to our meeting on the steps."

He pictured her wandering around the kitchen, and wondered suddenly if she'd bothered to change out of the beautiful dress she'd worn earlier in the evening.

"So … what's on the menu?"

"Is there a specific purpose for this call, Booth? Or are you genuinely concerned about my music and food choices?" Her tone hovered halfway between exasperated and amused.

He folded his arms behind his head. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"You hear my voice every day."

"Oh, c'mon! Bones, two hours ago we fulfilled a recurring dream I've been having for the past five years. Is it that strange that I'd want to revisit the moment by calling you? Or are you saying you didn't feel what I did?"

"I have no way of knowing what you felt—"

"Dammit, Temperance! Don't give me that crap. You know exactly how I felt—how I feel," he snapped. "You don't wanna talk? Fine. Pardon my interruption of your 'meal preparations.' Good night." He hung up the phone and threw a pillow across the bedroom.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The phone rang about five minutes later. He answered curtly.

"What?"

"Booth. I really do appreciate your creative efforts. When it comes to emotional linguistics, I am not that well-versed. You have taken extreme care in the preparation of our dates; the treasure hunt was ingeniously devised. If I conveyed my sentiment otherwise, I apologize."

He sighed, unable to stay angry at her especially after the rare apology. "I forgive you, Bones."

Silence hovered between them uncomfortably.

"Do you still want to converse with me?" she finally asked.

"Do you?" He threw that ball straight back into her court. "'Cause you know, Bones, I don't want to interrupt you making dinner or anything." Okay, so that last comment was snarky. Maybe he was still a little irritated.

More silence. Booth drummed his fingers against the sheets nervously but refused to be the one to break.

Finally, she spoke again. "I would like to continue conversing. While writing, I will admit that I was somewhat distracted by reminisces of your words and our kisses."

"So that's what you were doing when I called? Writing?"

"Yes. On the latest chapter of my novel."

"Did the chapter include a hot make-out scene for Andy and Kathy?"

"That is an accurate assessment."

He grinned. "I got you all hot and bothered, didn't I."

And just like that sweetly awkward segued accidentally into seriously R rated.

"You were quite insistent on self-restraint. Hence, I required self-gratification."

Booth's mind went blank before flipping the channel over to a very dangerous place. He sat bolt upright in bed, swearing. "Jesus, Bones! Not leaving much to the imagination there."

Earlier in the evening he'd seen a smile hiding in her eyes. That smile had now morphed into a smirk lurking in the folds of her voice.

"Imagination, and the memory of seeing you unclothed, were precisely what was required. I am sure that you also needed some physical release."

He groaned and got up to go get a very cold glass of water.

"Whoa. Not going there Bones. You do your compartmentalizing thing, I'll find a safer conversation topic."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

A six-pack of beer called his name longingly in the fridge, but he couldn't justify it at midnight without a better reason than Brennan aggravating him. He grabbed a glass instead and poured himself leftover ice tea from Parker's last visit.

"I don't hear Sinatra any more, or Jazz. Is that 'Sunrise' you're playing? It's a mix of my valentines, right?"

He could almost hear her flush through the phone line. God, the woman drove him insane. She was fine with discussing 'self gratification', but try and get her to admit she liked one of his presents and she got all tongue-tangled and dodged the question.

"Is there a correlation between the musical valentines and the heart pendant, Booth?"

"There's a common theme. Why? Did you like the necklace?" He downed the ice tea and placed his glass in the sink.

"I like it very much. You obviously considered my preference for unusual jewelry. I am still wearing it, even though I am in my pajamas…Where did you find such an exquisite myogenic rendering of the heart?"

There. That was exactly why he loved her. Because every now and then she threw in something unexpectedly sweet like that and made his world spin.

"I carved it."*

Now it was her turn to be taken off guard. He heard the obvious surprise in her voice.

"I'm impressed. I never realized that you possessed such artistic potential."

He perused the fridge, hoping for something else to munch on, but found it sadly devoid of sustenance.

"Didn't think these un-squinty hands had the dexterity, huh? Or that I could use technical terms like 'dexterity.'"

"I continue to be impressed."

Score!

"I carved it for you when you won that 'Squint of the Year' award. Never got around to giving it to you, the Gravedigger sorta got in the way…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's words hung awkwardly between them for a long minute. He really hadn't intended to mention Heather Taffett, but now that he had, it seemed like the conversation had to happen.

He closed the fridge and leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed. "I guess I never really told you how things went on my end after you were buried alive, Bones."

"I'm aware of the sequence of events that led to my rescue."

"That's not what I mean." He moved from the kitchen into the living room, where he sprawled out on the couch. "That's not what I mean. Do you have any idea what went on in my head when I found out the Gravedigger had you?"

He pre-empted her obvious answer.

"I was out with Camille, having dinner. She's talking about going to New York to see a musical, while I'm listening to the message from that psycho. I swear my heart stopped for like an entire minute. Y'know, I've been in some scary situations – combat, captivity, when Parker was so sick…You say I could never murder someone Bones, but if I'd have been in a room with Taffett that day, we'd be having this conversation with me calling from Death Row."

"Booth—"

He cut her off and got up from the couch again, pacing agitatedly as the memories flooded back to him.

"I was half insane with rage, Bones. At you for refusing to listen to me about being more careful. At the entire Braintrust for not working faster to find you. At the FBI for putting you on the case. But most of all I was furious at myself. I still am." He swore and seriously wished for a punching bag. "I'm so sorry, Bones. I should have protected you. Should have kept her from getting to you. When I think back to how you must have felt waking up in that car …"

"Self-recrimination is a futile pursuit. You saved my life; you saved Hodgins' life. There is _nothing _to apologize for, Booth."

She sounded distressed and he hated himself for undoubtedly reawakening terrible memories. And still, he couldn't stop talking, couldn't stop pacing.

""I have nightmares, Bones. Not about my ordeal. About yours. You're trapped in a coffin at the bottom of a lake while I'm stuck in that boat, watching through a porthole, unable to save you from drowning."

"I also have nightmares, Booth. Of being entombed, alone. Or of you imprisoned on that ship, I watch from the helicopter as it explodes. I fail to reach you in time. It's not rational, but I feel guilt too, for not preventing your capture. When I received the message from the Gravedigger, my heart was still beating but I … was extremely upset."

"Next time you have a nightmare, will you call me, Bones? Please?"

"I will," she agreed, surprising him with her lack of an argument. "If you'll do the same."

"Deal," he answered firmly.

He collapsed into an armchair, feeling some of the tension dissipate.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I _was _in a room alone with Heather Taffett after we became aware she was responsible for your capture." Brennan's voice became cold and hard. "I would not have murdered her, because she alone knew your location. However, had a weapon been available to me, we could be having this conversation from my prison cell."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Wow. Okay," Booth muttered in amazement, staring up at the ceiling. "Bones … do y'think, maybe, just maybe, that admitting you'd bash someone's head in for me is a clue you care about me as more than a partner?"

"It's a possibility I will take into consideration."

He laughed in spite of the dark nature of the conversation. "That right there, Bones, that's one of the reasons I love you. Your absolute honesty _and _your refusal to give a straight answer at the same time. Those two things don't usually go together, but you manage to fuse them seamlessly."

Before she could say something to totally ruin the moment, he continued, "All right, Bones. Here's a question. If you could describe me as any food item, what would it be and why?"

"Will you clarify your request with an example?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, grinning. "Sure. I would describe you as a tall, cool glass of fresh orange juice, Bones. You're long and lean and sweet, without being cloying. You've got some bite."

"I would describe you as extra-firm, fresh cubes of tofu."

Booth nearly went over backwards in the recliner. _"What?"_ he yelped, sitting up. "Come on, Bones. No way I get compared to tofu. You should've said steak."

"Tofu has a very firm texture, like your character and your physical build. It's smooth on the exterior, and yields slowly but surely as you bite into it. It has a hint of salt and sweetness, along with a strong, wholesome flavor."

"Bones," he complained. "You're making me sound like a glass of milk or something. I'm so a steak."

"Cooked or uncooked?"

"Huh?"

"In order to compare you to a steak, I need to know whether we are utilizing the metaphor of an uncooked cut of meat, or a portion served in a restaurant as rare, medium rare or well done."

He _really _didn't want to know if she considered him medium rare or well done.

"Forget it, Bones. Let's change the subject. What are you doing right now, besides talking to me?"

"I'm having herbal tea and eating salad … with extra firm cubes of tofu."

"Right there!" he exclaimed, waving a finger as though she was right them in front of him. "Right there is the Evil Squint that you deny exists."

"I don't know what that means." She sounded adorably smug. If they'd been in the same room, Booth would have been torn between kissing her and throttling her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They traded light hearted banter for a while as Brennan devoured her salad, which she continued to insist had no sexual connotation whatsoever.

"I have a question, Booth."

He'd made himself comfortable in the recliner, finally locating an old bag of pork rinds and a dip that hadn't expired yet. Because that's what real men ate, he informed Brennan as he deliberately crunched into the receiver. _Not _tofu.

"Fire away, Bones."

"On the island, you asked me whether I ever regret not having sailed with Sully."

He paused in mid crunch, wanting to make sure he heard the next part of that statement.

"Do you ever regret not remaining with Tessa or Catherine or Rebecca?"

"No." That was an easy one, at least. "Rebecca, maybe, in a way. We have a kid together and it would've made things easier all around if we'd stuck it out, but it just wasn't meant to be, Bones. I know you don't believe in that kind of thing, but Becca and I belonged with other people."

She said nothing.

"But Tessa, Catherine?" He shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "No regrets, not at all. This is going to sound really bad, Bones, but they were just placeholders. I just didn't know it at the time. Okay, maybe with Catherine I did, which is why I ended things so quickly." He gave her an opening to ask the question he knew she still had about that lunch date.

She didn't take him up on it. "I'm not certain I understand the concept of a placeholder."

"They were my way of trying to move on without you." He tossed the bag of rinds aside. This was not a chips and dip conversation any longer, it seemed.

"Tessa was a beautiful woman. A good person. But the minute you walked into my life, Bones, I really should have ended it. There was never any competition there. But you weren't interested, and it took me long enough to figure out my own feelings, so I kept a relationship going that probably should have ended months before it did."

His lucky poker chip was in reach and he snagged it off the coffee table and flipped it restlessly. "The women in my life before we met, Bones, and afterwards … they were just precursors to you and me, even if I don't regret the time I spent with them. I know you won't agree, but I don't know how else to say it."

She processed that for a while, apparently stirring her tea, given the clinking noise coming through the receiver.

He decided that if this was the way the conversation was going to go, he might as well take it all the way. "My turn with a question."

"Just a minute."

Dishes clanked in the sink and he heard her walking down the hallway.

"Where you headed, Bones?"

"I would like to make myself comfortable before we continue talking."

That conjured up images Booth so did not need. While she settled herself, he poured another glass of tea and added extra ice for good measure.

"I'm ready," she said, sounding for all the world like she was right by his ear as she slid into bed.

Okay, more ice …Having suitably doused his internal fire, he wandered back into the living room, deciding it was best if both of them were not in bed at the moment.

"Tell me about the night I died, Bones."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan had been leisurely stretched out under cool, crisp sheets, ready for another food-type question. The relative contentment she'd been feeling vanished at his question and she sat up in bed. Even though she'd come to understand the rationale behind his deception, the memory was still difficult to revisit.

"How much do you recall of the evening?" she asked, aware her voice was slightly unsteady.

"Nothing much after catching that bullet, up to the point where I woke up and Cullen was standing at my bedside with a team of agents."

She leaned back against the headboard, eyeing the shadows in her room that no longer seemed quite as benign as they had earlier in the evening. "My own memories are somewhat confused about the events that unfolded following your shooting."

"I can't imagine how terrible it must have been for you, Bones. I still haven't forgiven Sweets—or myself—for not making sure you knew what was going on behind the scenes." His voice was soft with regret.

"Though it seems improbable in retrospect, I don't remember hearing the gunshot," she began slowly, "My first indication that something was wrong was when you stumbled backwards. I was … confused initially, as to what was happening. I didn't see the blood immediately. Then the music stopped and people started screaming. I jumped off stage and Pam attempted to fire a second shot."

"She went after you a second time?" Booth repeated, sounding horror-struck. "After I was already down? Jesus, Bones! You never told me that before." Now he sounded angry. "You let me believe that somebody else took her down while you were helping me, and that she got shot while struggling to escape!"

"I never lied to you, Booth. I simply allowed you to draw your own conclusions about an event neither of us wished to discuss extensively."

"Even the Bureau kept that from me." He swore again. "So what happened, finally?"

"Pam saw you as being hers. Presumably, she was attempting to prevent me from rendering assistance that she felt only she should provide." Brennan shuddered slightly at the memory of the woman's empty, psychotic glare. "Your weapon was lying beside you. I picked it up and shot her."

"Thank God you're a good shot," Booth muttered fervently.

"I'm told she died instantly, but I didn't realize I'd killed her until later. You were bleeding—going into shock. My focus was on applying pressure to your wound. You were bleeding extensively. Booth … I was aware of what was happening to you on an anatomical level. I automatically assessed the severity of your condition. The expression on your face, it was like you were leaving … I truly was uncertain whether you would survive the injury."

"I'm sorry I scared you, baby." His voice was tender and, for once, Brennan didn't mind his use of the endearment. "It's my fault Pam ever became obsessed with me in the first place. I should've listened to Sweets."

Brennan continued, uncertain of being able to finish the story another day. "Zack called 911. I believe Sweets went over to confirm that Pam was deceased. Then the paramedics arrived." That memory alone was one that overlapped with her nightmares of Heather Taffett. "They didn't let me ride in the ambulance with you. I would've argued, but you needed medical care immediately, so I followed behind with Angela and Cam."

"You were rushed into surgery, but I wasn't family, so the hospital staff wouldn't inform me of the full details of your condition." She curled up tighter into the pillow at the cold, lonely memory of pacing the hallway, pleading for information from every passing physician, ignoring Cam and Angela's insistence that she try and stay calm. "It wasn't until Rebecca arrived with Parker that I was able to ascertain the extent of your injuries. I never even saw you before they declared you dead on the operating table."

"God, Bones—"

"I walked out of the hospital. It was raining, but I just … I just needed to walk. Everybody was expecting me to cry, but if I had I wouldn't have been able to stop. I couldn't breathe in that place, so I left. You were dead, and I ran as far as I could get from the pain. As always." She stopped, unable to continue.

His voice was guttural with emotion. "I'm so sorry I put you through that pain, Bones. It's inexcusable, no matter the reasoning."

She remained silent, momentarily incapable of saying anything.

"Bones," Booth said hoarsely, "Come on. Talk to me. Get angry. You have every right to pin this one on me. I keep telling you I'll never hurt you, and that's exactly what I did."

"I'm aware of the facts, Booth. Your superiors gave you no choice." She rubbed at her eyes in sudden exhaustion.

A loud reverberation caused her to frown and look up from her knees. "Somebody's knocking."

"What, on your door?"

"I believe so." She staggered from the bed and made her way down the hallway.

"At three o'clock in the morning, someone's knocking? Don't open the door, Bones. Nobody good will be on your doorstep at this time of night."

The knocking got louder as she approached the door.

"Bones? Are you even listening to me?" Booth demanded in her ear. "At least look through the peephole first," he begged as she continued to ignore him. "Bones? Bones, be careful, dammit!"

She wrapped the robe around herself more tightly, still holding the phone to her ear for safety's sake as she cracked the door with the chain still in place.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth smiled at her from the hallway, cellphone still pressed to his ear.

"Hi."

The expression of surprise on her face was worth the small effort it had taken to be extra quiet while leaving his apartment and driving to her place.

"You didn't check the peephole," he scolded, flipping the phone shut. "I told you nobody good would show up on your doorstep at this hour."

Brennan undid the chain and opened the door fully, ushering him inside. She closed the door and turned to frown at him, arms crossed across the short silk robe dotted with an abstract pattern of cherry blossoms.

"What are you doing here, Booth?" Her eyes, while dry, held shadows of the dark ghosts his question had roused from the grave.

When she'd started talking, he'd realized that he couldn't let her tell the story without being there when she finished. He'd nearly wrecked the SUV when she'd told him about being threatened by Pam a second time.

"I needed to hold you," he answered bluntly. "I've been wanting to hold you ever since we kissed good night, and that conversation only made it ten times worse."

Hesitating only slightly, she stepped forward and he locked his arms around her, shutting out the world until there was nothing but her soft skin, soft perfume, soft breathing against his neck.

"Ah, Bones," he murmured, "You know I love you, right?"

Brennan lifted her head and smiled slightly, sliding her hands deliberately up his chest. "You've mentioned it occasionally."

"I believe I've also mentioned that you make me insane in more ways than one." He swooped in to catch her lips.

She responded instantly, pressing herself into him and aggressively nipping his bottom lip, demanding that he deepen the kiss. There was no way to resist, and Booth followed her into the dark spiral of desire, allowing her to lead. Her tongue played over the ridges of his lower lip, teasing, tasting, before gliding in to claim what she had clearly decided was his mouth, her territory.

If the kiss wasn't hot enough as is, the damn silk robe disguised nothing about what she was—or more, to the point, wasn't, wearing. The gentle pressure of her full breasts against his chest as she moved restlessly, along with the seemingly unconscious circles she was tracing on the back of his neck, combined to send Booth's fantasies into heretofore uncharted territory.

Marshalling every ounce of remaining self control, he pulled away with a frustrated growl and glared at her. "That's not what I came here for, Bones."

She sidled forward again and he stepped back, hands waving in the air. The tip of her tongue darted across her lower lip seductively. Booth flinched and made a beeline for the living room.

"Where are you going?" she called in confusion.

He hit _Play _on the sound system.

"Booth?" Brennan asked again. "What—"

Sinatra's inimitable voice drifted from the speakers, crooning the opening refrain for _The Best is Yet to Come_.

"I said next time you heard this, we'd be dancing."

"Booth, my dancing skills are sorely lacking."

"Let me teach you, then." He took her hand and led her away from the furniture into the center of the living room, where she stood uncertainly, looking almost lost in her own home.

"C'mon, Bones." He took her face in his hands and dropped a soft, fast kiss on her lips before retreating. "Let me fulfill at least one fantasy tonight. Let's dance the night away."

She gasped as he expertly sent her spinning, then drew her back in one smooth move against his chest, only to twirl her outward again. By the third spin, she was laughing.

"See, Bones? Dancing with me is easy …"

"With you," she pointed out, as he showed her a simple swing step. "I suspect that this new skill may not translate with another partner."

"Good," he said firmly. "I'm the only partner you need." He dipped her low and made her gasp again, relishing her laughter.

"I would agree," she answered breathlessly, unaware of what those three words did to Booth.

In danger of carrying her off to bed right then and there, he opted instead to continue making her laugh and spin, taking her through the paces of simple dance steps until the sun began to rise and they collapsed on the couch together, drifting off to sleep in each other's arms almost immediately.

**o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Sooo … did that live up to "the chapter after the kiss"? ;) **

***Re: The wooden heart carving. Booth revealed surprising artistic abilities in that episode where he and Brennan double-dated with Sweets and Daisy. So that's where I drew that inspiration from.**


	37. Come one, come all, to the carnival

**A/N: We've had all manner of intense conversation lately. High time for a little fluff, don't you think? :) Admittedly, the following might be a tad hyperbolic, but it was intended as a fun, comical piece. Beaucoup thank yous to the brilliant beta Eternal Destiny 304. And thanks to all those who continue to follow and review the story. Your feedback makes my day.**

Brennan woke late on Saturday morning, covered with a throw off the foot of her bed. It took her a minute before the fuzz in her sleep-addled brain cleared enough for her to sit up and notice the note on her coffee table.

_Bones,_

_Sorry I didn't get to kiss you good morning. I've got Parker today, so I had to leave early. _

_We're going to an amusement park tomorrow. Wanna come?_

_Love,_

_Booth_

_PS: In the kitchen there's a carrot pecan muffin, bagels and cream cheese from that bakery you like. You were out of orange juice and I know that's something you have to have first thing in the morning, so there's a new carton in the fridge, with extra pulp for a certain finicky squint. Just don't expect me to drink it! I'd have made coffee, but wasn't sure how fresh it would be by the time you woke up … have a good Saturday._

She smiled, feeling that rush of warmth in the pit of her stomach that was quickly becoming familiar, and rose to make herself breakfast from the supplies Booth had so thoughtfully provided.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Sunday morning_

Parker and Booth showed up at her door at 8:00 am on Sunday morning, both wearing cargo shorts and tees based on personal preference—Booth's standard FBI blue, Parker's red, with the logo of some music group Brennan was unfamiliar with.

"Hi, Bones." Parker's big, friendly smile mirrored his dad's. "May I use your bathroom, please?"

"Sure." She waved him in the right direction and turned back toward her partner. "You've done a good job, Booth. He's very polite."

Booth reached out with one arm and pulled her in for a quick kiss. She braced one hand against his chest and splayed the fingers of the other hand across the back of his head. Knowing that this was not an appropriate moment, but needing more all the same, Brennan deepened the kiss very slightly, teasing her way across his lips just enough to taste cinnamon and coffee before asking,

"Booth, does Parker know about … our experiment?"

He lifted his head a fraction of an inch and stroked her cheek reassuringly. "He has the idea that we're dating, and he's fine with it." Booth dropped his mouth back to hers and whispered against her lips, "But, like any kid, he's grossed out by kissing ..."

Lingering one more sweet moment, he murmured, "I'm glad you're coming with us today," before pulling away regretfully.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

They stopped to pick up Parker's best friend, Nick, before continuing on to Good Times, a seasonal theme park located an hour outside of DC. Booth was amused to watch Brennan gamely interacting with the middle schoolers, who proved unflappable in the face of all her scientific jargon. If they didn't understand something, they called her on it—"You're talking Chinese again," and she amiably translated.

The boys were surprisingly willing to give up their electronics addiction long enough to tutor Brennan in video game and sports linguistics, along with standard road trip fare like "Spot the License Plate" and "Twenty Questions." She caught onto those two games well enough, but "I Spy" and "the Alphabet Game" proved disastrous, seeing as she could come up with 17 different names for almost every object in sight, most of which the boys insisted were made up words.

Arriving at the park, Booth made sure both boys slathered on sunscreen, put on baseball caps and turned the volume on their cell phones to **high**, before handing Parker a ride pass, a map of the park and $20 for food and games. Nick already had his own supply of cash for the day.

Booth bent until he was eye-level with his son. "You text me before going to each new section of the park, you understand?"

Parker nodded impatiently.

"And you text me every 30 minutes, no matter where you are."

"_Yeah, Dad …" _Parker rolled his eyes at Nick.

"Where and when are we meeting?"

"At 2:00, at the concession stand by the front gate," his son recited obediently. "Can I go now, Dad? Parker bounced on his toes eagerly and cast longing glances in the direction of the roller coaster.

Booth nodded and the boys took off like jackrabbits, headed for the famed Cliffhanger they'd been raving about the whole ride up.

Brennan watched the kids disappear into the distance. "I'm surprised you let them go unsupervised."

"I don't like it," Booth admitted. "But we've been here a bunch of times and Parker knows what he's doing. I'll make sure I stay close to his general location. And if he doesn't text me every 30 minutes, I'll have every security guard in the park searching for him before he can call me 'Lame.'" The FBI Agent exhaled heavily.

"C'mon, Bones." He placed a hand on the small of her back. "Let's head in the direction of the Cliffhanger."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

At Booth's insistence, they stopped at a basketball toss game.

"Which prize do you want, Bones?" He gestured at the colorful array of stuffed animals ranging from giant Shreks to neon Nemos and every other kind of creature in between.

Brennan eyed the string of plush toys disinterestedly. "Another gift is unnecessary, Booth. Your dates have been more than sufficient."

"C'mon, Bones. This game is my specialty. Just pick a prize. What do you want? A big stuffed Tweetie? How 'bout an alligator?"

"I really don't—"

"That owl," he decided arbitrarily. "I'm going to win you that big owl with wire-rimmed glasses. It'll look cute in your office."

"I would prefer not to have toys in my workspace," she protested. "It's unprofessional."

"Then you can keep him on your bed and think of me." Booth handed over the money and shooed Brennan over to the sidelines.

"'Kay, Bones? You ready?" He set up his shot carefully, hunching low, measuring the distance and aiming for the backboard. "Watch this."

He threw the ball and watched with dismay as it fell far short of the net.

"Two more tries," the carnie called, throwing the ball back to him.

"Booth," Brennan began.

"Shhh! I'm concentrating." He bounced the ball and focused intently. "Ready? This time I'll definitely make it." The ball left his fingertips, sailed toward the hoop and bounced casually off the rim.

"Booth, there's something I think you should—"

"Last try!" The ball came flying back at them and Booth caught it.

"Third time's the charm, Bones." He dribbled and aimed, dribbled and aimed, measured, dribbled and aimed, and took the shot.

It hit the backboard squarely and bounced away without even touching the net. Booth stared in disbelief.

"Next!" The carnie called cheerfully.

"There's no way," Booth cried. "That last shot should've gone in!"

"Next!"

"I would like to try," Brennan said, digging into her purse.

"Don't, Bones," her partner cautioned. "The game's rigged."

"I am fully aware of that fact." She paid for her turn and took her place in front of the hoop. "Though I know little about the rules of the game," she said, bouncing the ball inexpertly, "it is obvious that the ball is over-inflated," she paused and sized up the hoop, "the target is oval, rather than circular as would be the typical presentation,"

"Lady," the carnie complained, "Just take the shot already."

"And the backstop appears to be made of plywood, which would give it extra elasticity," she concluded, throwing the ball in a high arc. It swished neatly through the net, without touching the backboard at all.

Booth gaped and Brennan shrugged, unimpressed with her success. "Which stuffed toy would you like for your office, Booth?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

Booth stopped by a balloon dart game and shoved his plush turtle at Brennan.

"Nobody beats me at this game."

She looked at the game uncertainly.

"I'm gonna win you that grey squirrel, to remind you of all the times you've driven me nuts."

"Once again, Booth, I believe—"

"There's no set-up here, Bones. Balloons, darts, it doesn't get any simpler. It's just like target practice."

He took aim with the first dart and hurled it with deadly accuracy at his chosen target. It hit the target and bounced to the floor.

Booth frowned, aimed and threw the second dart, with the same result.

Brennan pursed her lips. "The balloons are-"

"Quiet, Bones." Booth's brow furrowed in concentration. He drew back his arm and let fly with the third dart.

Once again, it hit the desired target and fell to the floor without popping the balloon.

"May I take his next turns?" Brennan shouldered Booth aside and took the last two darts from him.

The carnie shrugged and nodded even as Booth protested volubly.

Brennan didn't bother to aim before violently hurling one dart, followed by the other. The first rebounded from the balloon, but the second hit its target squarely and punctured it with a hissing sound.

"The balloons are under-inflated and the tips of the dart are deliberately dulled. While your accuracy was excellent, the solution to the problem is force, not precision." She glanced at Booth. "Do you still want the squirrel?"

**o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's phone beeped as they moved away from the balloon toss, holding the turtle and newly-acquired monkey.

_30 min txt_

_goin 2 space shutl_

He brightened considerably. "There's one game on that end of the park that I _know _can't be rigged."

He grabbed Brennan's hand and dragged her through the crowds in the direction Parker and Nick were headed.

"Right there." Booth pointed as they arrived. "It's called the Strong Man and that, Bones," he grinned, "Is exactly what I am. You may beat me at balloons and basketball, but I'm definitely bigger than you are."

"Larger muscle mass does not necessarily equate to greater physical ability," Brennan commented. "Furthermore, Booth, I'm almost certain that the purpose of this game is not to test strength, but to test accuracy."

He handed her the stuffed animals and rolled up his sleeves. "Stop worrying, Bones. Just let me show off for my girl, huh?"

She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing as he took up his spot beside the mallet.

"One, two … _three_." Booth grunted with exertion and drove the mallet home. The weight it was connected to shot up approximately halfway.

"I can do better than that," he muttered, taking up his stance again.

"If you hold the mallet as far down on the handle as possible, it will enhance—"

**THUD.**

Again, the weight ratcheted upwards, skimming past its previous target by several feet. Booth grinned with satisfaction and held out the mallet.

"You wanna try, Bones?"

She traded him the toys for the mallet.

"Stand like this," he demonstrated. "And put your hands like this." He mimicked holding a baseball bat.

She ignored his advice, positioned her hands as she'd suggested he do earlier, and drew the mallet back completely over her head, arms extended all the way. She and made a few practice swings, tapping the target lightly, then arched her body backwards and brought the mallet down precisely in the center of the target.

The weight skimmed upwards, past Booth's record, and stopped just shy of the top.

"This game requires accuracy and technique, rather than strength," Brennan explained. "While you are very strong, Booth, your aim was not as precise as it should have been. Had you arranged your hands as I suggested, and then positioned yourself as I did, you would have achieved the most momentum and would undoubtedly have hit the target squarely, thus beating me."

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Bren!" Angela answered her phone after three rings. "Aren't you and Booth out with Parker today?"

Brennan settled down onto a park bench, watching for Booth to emerge from the men's room.

"We are," she confirmed. "However, it does not appear that Booth is enjoying himself."

"Of course he is," Angela scoffed. "He's on a date with the woman he's insanely in love with! Why would you say that?"

"His responses to my attempts at conversation have become increasingly monosyllabic, and he is no longer making repeated attempts at physical intimacy in between games."

"I don't know about monosyllabic, but if he's not trying to kiss you every three seconds anymore, that's a sign of a problem, definitely. What games, Bren?"

"We have been participating in a variety of activities designed to test hand-eye coordination, as well as accuracy and strength. However, Booth's accuracy has proved right for the wrong activities, as has his strength. I have won him a stuffed turtle, a monkey, a penguin and a kangaroo, and he has not yet won anything. I've told him that I do not require gifts, but—"

"Brennan!" Angela groaned. "Sweetie. He wants to show you how big and strong he is."

"I'm already aware of his considerable physical prowess."

"You're killing the guy's ego, Bren. He wants to win you something. It's an alpha male thing."

Booth emerged from the bathroom and paused by the water fountain for a drink.

"I have to go, Ange."

"Bren. Trust me. You need to let him win something. A couple somethings, at least."

Brennan flipped the phone shut as Booth approached. He flopped down on the bench beside her and gave her a tightly wound smile.

"Who was that?"

"Angela." She chewed her lower lip unconsciously.

"What's with the worried face, Bones?"

"You appear to be angry with me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Angela believes that I should allow you to win a few games in order for you to reassert your masculinity."

"No." Booth took her hand. "She's right more often than not, but this time Angela's way off base, Bones. I'm acting like a five year old. I don't want you to stop being you. And being you apparently means beating the pants off me at every damn game." He gave her a lopsided, much more relaxed smile, and squeezed her hand.

"I'm mad at myself because I acted like an idiot. You kept trying to tell me the games were rigged, and I wouldn't listen. Like I said, I just wanted to show off for you, and it kind of blew up in my face."

"There's no need to show off, Booth." She traced the back of his hand absently. "I'm already fully aware of your considerable strength and impressive muscular definition."

"Can't blame a guy for wanting to impress a beautiful girl." He slid over to her side of the bench and dropped an arm around her shoulders. "Parker's not around at the moment, Bones … let me show off in a different way. I promise you'll be impressed. "

She smiled up at him, relieved. "I'm already impressed," she began to assure him, but he cut her words off with a long, slow kiss.

"The heart pendant was much more appealing than any of the stuffed toys," she whispered when they came up for air. "Not only because of its intricacy, but because you made it for me."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. "Sometimes you say exactly the right things, baby."

She poked him in the ribs and he chuckled into her lips before drawing back to kiss the tip of her nose playfully.

"You up for a few rides?" he inquired. "And then a funnel cake, maybe? I'd love to kiss you after you've taken a bite of strawberries and whipped cream …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

They were just staggering off a wild rollercoaster ride when Booth's phone beeped again.

_30 min txt_

_goin 2 screamer_

Brennan clutched at Booth's bicep as the earth wobbled under her feet. "It appears I am suffering from temporospatial disorientation."

"After that ride, it's no surprise." He steadied her with an arm around her waist. "Parker and Nick are staying in this section of the park. I have an idea for a nearby game we'd both be evenly matched at. Actually, come to think of it, I might even win this time."

He led her toward his ride of choice and grinned. "You're always bugging me to let you drive, Bones. Here's your chance."

Brennan laughed as she spotted the bumper cars.

"Pick your ride, baby," Booth teased from several feet away where he was examining a car.

"I will exact revenge for that momentarily," she informed him, climbing into a miniature red Corvette.

"You wish," he shot back, folding himself into a neon purple facsimile of a 1960s muscle car.

The whistle blew and drivers began to smash into each other wildly. Brennan's eyes gleamed as she compartmentalized the noise and honed in on her partner's vehicle. He was distracted by other oncoming traffic, and she took advantage of it to ram him broadside, sending him spiraling into a green Jetta.

"You're gonna pay for that, Dr. Brennan." He wheeled around and roared after her, only to be intercepted by a yellow car driven by a pretty blonde.

"Hi," she cooed flirtatiously, adding an absurd little wave to the picture of her fake smile and pneumatically enhanced chest.

Booth glanced nervously at his partner, well aware of her not-so-well-hidden jealous streak. Brennan skirted several cars, doubled back, and slammed into the blonde at full speed.

"That wasn't very nice, Bones." He snuck up behind her as she took aim for the blonde again and bumped Brennan sideways, so that her bumper clipped the edge of an orange T-Bird and spun end over end toward the far corner of the track.

It didn't take her long to rethink her plan of attack and come after him full speed, no holds barred. They played Chicken, driving directly at each other and glaring ferociously through their makeshift windshields until the vehicles collided headfirst and bounced off each other, taking various other cars with them.

"I thought you said you were a good driver," Booth goaded, taking out a green Jeep that was seemingly insistent on blocking his access to Brennan.

"I am an excellent driver!" she retorted, merging into traffic circling around the track until she was directly beside him and swerved hard enough to force him out of the makeshift lane.

"You two have issues," the green Jeep's driver called. "Maybe sort them out some other place?"

Brennan and Booth looked at each other and smiled malevolently.

"On three, Bones." Booth stage-whispered. "Ready? One, two … three!"

They raced toward the Jeep and collided with him simultaneously, exchanging phantom high fives as they slid past each other.

The blonde careened by and Brennan looked over at Booth for confirmation. He nodded in amusement and hunched over his wheel.

"One," Brennan counted. "Two. Three!"

Propelled by the twin impacts of Booth and Brennan's rides, the blonde's yellow car went flying across the track.

"Time," the carnie called, and the cars stopped moving.

Booth stepped over to assist her out of the car, and Brennan rewarded him with a hard, furious kiss that he suspected was one way of marking her territory as the blonde stalked by in a huff.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He refused to sail through the Tunnel of Love with Brennan, aware that Week 6 could very easily be pre-empted in the murky, intimate darkness of the tunnel.

"Not happening, Bones." He held his ground, in spite of Brennan's nagging about his prudish nature. "We're not having sex for the first time inside a plastic swan that potentially has used condoms floating around its crawlspace. You could write a book about all the DNA samples probably found in those birds."

Instead, he insisted they ride a huge Ferris Wheel.

"Why are we stopping?" Brennan asked as the wheel ground to a halt with their car still at a high elevation.

"To give people like us a chance to make out, obviously." Booth snickered at her surprised expression. "Who's prudish now? Better hurry, Bones. We've probably only got about a minute."

She wasted no time in grabbing his shirt and hauling him close, the better to kiss him passionately. For a change, it didn't much matter to Booth if there was an audience. Riders several cars back shouted cat-calls and wolf-whistled, but he was solely focused on the searing heat generated by Brennan pressed up tight against him, the hot, wet circles her tongue was making against his, and those sexy little noises she emitted. He saw stars as she rubbed her breasts against his chest provocatively, laughing as he groaned and tried to hold her still unsuccessfully,

As the ride started back down and Brennan moved away, Booth pulled her back for one last fast kiss, coupled with a warning,

"I'll pay you back for that as soon as we find a funnel cake stand."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

They were collecting a souvenir photograph of the two of them screaming on The Rattler Rollercoaster when Booth got the text he'd been hoping for.

_30 min txt_

_goin 2 rattler_

"They're right by the food court," he told Brennan, hurrying her along. "Are you hungry yet?"

"Not particularly." She glanced at her watch. "It's only 12:15."

"Well, I am. And I need to eat before Parker and Nick get off the ride and bump into us."

"Why?" Brennan asked innocently.

"Because you're on the menu, Dr. Brennan, topped with strawberries and whipped cream, and I don't need my ten year old son and his best buddy to see me digging in."

It seemed to him that she picked up the pace ever so slightly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The funnel cake cost $11 and was worth every greasy bite.

"This is extremely unhealthy," Brennan complained, even as she carved out another loaded spoonful of fried, sugary bread. The woman had a surprising sweet tooth, even if it didn't include pie.

"It's got strawberries," Booth pointed out helpfully. "Fruit is healthy. And the whipped cream's made of milk. It does a body good, Bones."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's an old TV jingle from …" His eyes went straight to her mouth as she carefully licked all traces of whipped cream from her spoon. "Never mind. I can think of a very healthy activity to burn off all the calories you just ate."

He pulled the plate from her protesting fingers and slid it over to the unoccupied side of the bench.

"I wasn't finished, Booth!"

"Neither was I," he replied, lifting her bodily onto his lap. Her irritation faded away and she lifted her face to his with a sassy smirk.

"Mmmm." Booth hummed in satisfaction at the first taste of strawberry on her lips, taking his time to leisurely suck away all traces of the fruit syrup. "Sweet …" He softly nudged her mouth further open and deepened the kiss, sweeping forward to capture the smooth, cool remnants of whipped cream on the inside of her cheeks. Her tongue met his and they wrestled briefly, trading hints of honey and powdered sugar.

"_So _sweet," he growled, urging her hips closer to his. "You could be breakfast, lunch and dinner for me."

"Better than pie?" she asked coyly, tugging her mouth away.

"Definitely." He recaptured her mouth quickly. "The only thing to top this would be eating pie off your lips."

"Dad? _Seriously?"_

They jolted apart.

The boys stood a few feet away, staring. Parker rolled his eyes and shrugged at Nick in classic pre-teen speak.

"Hey, buddy." Booth swiped at his mouth self-consciously and avoided all eye contact with Brennan, who was still very much sitting on his lap. "Having fun?"

"Nick forgot his phone on a ride and the guy won't let him have it back unless a grown-up goes with him."

"Sure. Sure. Bones , ah … you mind …"

She slid off of him, unembarrassed. Booth stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Did you win her all those toys, Mr. Booth?" Nick asked, pointing at the pile of stuffed animals under the bench.

"Dr. Brennan won them for me, Nick," Booth answered wryly. "Turns out she's way better at these games than I am."

"That is inaccurate," Brennan cut in, stepping forward. "Booth has excellent reflexes and hand-eye coordination, as well as unusually precise aim. However, the games he attempted did not make the best use of his natural kinesthetic abilities."

"I still don't speak Chinese, Bones," Parker reminded her. "While Dad takes Nick to get his phone back, will you teach me how to win at the games?"

Brennan glanced at Booth, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me. If he wants stuffed zebras, it's fine by me."

"There's a sick Capitals' banner that I want," Parker retorted, grabbing Brennan's hand. "C'mon, Bones."

"How can a banner suffer from physical ailments?" she asked, following his lead.

"It means 'cool,' Bones. Y'know. Like bad means good? Sick means really cool."

Booth watched them go, feeling suddenly like all the pieces of his world were falling into place where they were meant to be.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"That's the one I want, Bones." Parker pointed at his prize of choice, hanging above scores of other similar sports mementoes. "How do I get it?"

Brennan assessed the play toss game visually. The stand consisted of three large glass plates and several smaller plates located slightly below the large ones. It appeared the intent was for an individual to toss a coin into the center of the dish, thereby winning a prize.

"My hypothesis would be that the game operator has deliberately coated the surface of each dish with a substance such as vegetable oil or silicone spray, in order to reduce friction, thereby forestalling the possibility of a coin remaining on a dish.

"_Bones_," he grumbled.

"You need to slow down the trajectory of your dime and also create a scenario where it is possible to break the lubricated surface's tension. Lick your fingers before you throw the coin and coat the coin's sides and edges with liquid."

Parker nodded, his eyes wide. Brennan straightened and went over to pay for his turn while Parker got in position.

She crouched beside him and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Toss the coin at an angle, like you would skip a rock on the water's surface. You don't want the coin to have any spin. Okay?"

"Okay."

He turned around and licked his fingers, coating the coins as she had instructed, before leaning forward to make his throw. Brennan straightened his shoulders casually, as though she was patting him on the back.

"Any day now, kid," the carnie called.

"He's paid for his turn, therefore you should allow him however much time he needs to assess the situation," Brennan reprimanded him coolly. "Come on, Parker. You can do it."

The boy focused intently, just like his father, and tossed the dime. They both watched as it sailed forward and clinked into the center plate, skidding only slightly before stopping.

"I did it!" He shouted. "Hey, Bones! Did you see? I did it!"

"I saw, Parker," she smiled. "You followed the procedure correctly and achieved the desired outcome."

He bear-hugged her unexpectedly, "Thanks, Bones," then ran off to claim his coveted banner.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Dad!" Parker raced over to his father, clutching his armload of toys. "Can you believe I actually won these?"

Booth ruffled his elated son's curly hair. "Sure I can, buddy. You've always been good at science."

"Science?" Nick asked, bug-eyed at the loot his best friend was toting.

"It's all about science," Parker told him, handing over several gifts he'd won deliberately for his friend. "Bones showed me the tricks."

"Can you show me, too?" Nick asked hopefully.

"I told your mom I'd get you home by three and it's already 1:45," Booth pointed out. "But maybe Dr. Brennan will agree to come with us next time."

"Even if I am not able to come, Parker can teach you," she replied. "He is an excellent student."

"Dad, Bones says there's one game you'll kick ass at," Parker remembered suddenly.

"Language," Booth chided, hiding a smile. "What game is that?"

Parker led the little group through the park to a rope ladder hovering over a large pool of water. The aim was apparently to make it all the way to the top and ring a bell without falling in. Booth looked at Brennan.

"We've only got a couple minutes. You sure this one isn't rigged?"

"It is," she said calmly. "But you already know the tricks."

"C'mon, Dad!"

"Yeah, Mr. Booth. Win somethin' for your girlfriend."

Booth gave in. "All right. But if I have to drive home soaking wet, I know who I'm blaming," he called over his shoulder as he headed for the short line. This apparently wasn't a particularly popular attraction, for obvious reasons. The water was a murky, suspiciously yellow color and looked both cold and muddy.

A couple minutes later, he stood before the ladder, considering. It was loaded on a pulley system, rigged to pivot sharply at the slightest imbalance.

"Do it, Dad!" Parker yelled from the other side of the railing.

Booth tugged on different parts of the rope experimentally, then chose his plan of attack and started up. Brennan was right. He knew all the tricks for this one. It was straight out of the catalog of Army Ranger Basic Training.

He avoided the ladder rungs and braced himself on the outside ropes instead. Using his arms for leverage and moving opposite limbs at the same time, he shimmied upward easily. In less than a minute, he was at the top, ringing the bell and waving at his personal cheerleading squad.

"Booth!" Brennan called up to him. "I would like the stuffed dolphin, please!"

Her smile and the sight of Nick and Parker high-fiving her in delight was better than any recognition Booth might have gotten had he won some of the earlier games.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"They're going to kiss," Parker said to his friend disgustedly, as they rode the elevator up to Brennan's floor. "Dad, can we hang out in the lobby?"

"All right." Booth agreed, smiling at Brennan. "I might be a couple minutes though."

"Gross!" The boys exclaimed in unison, hammering at the "close" button the minute the adults stepped out of the elevator. "Don't start until we can't see you," Parker commanded.

Booth grinned and turned to Brennan as the doors slid shut.

"Thank you for my dolphin," she smiled, a tad shyly. "And for the invitation to spend the day with you and Parker."

They'd done more than enough talking the last couple days, so Booth opted for hauling her close and cutting off any further words that might emerge from her lips by sealing them fiercely with his.

**Post-narrative A/N: When I was a kid, my parents and their friends would drop a group of us off at a theme park with money and a ride pass, and then we'd run around by ourselves until it was time to meet. I didn't realize this was still a pattern of behavior until the middle school I teach at did the exact same thing. We took a bus of parents and students to a zoo, gave instructions about calling, and then left everybody to do their own thing. Parents went one way, students went another, and teachers—well, I tried to follow the kids, but they went every which way and I kept being told by parents and principals that it was unnecessary, so I eventually wandered off on my own, albeit under duress. Maybe it's insane to allow a kid that kind of freedom these days. I don't know. But that was my thinking in writing this piece, anyway.**


	38. Week 4 begins in an unfortunate way

**A/N: As I feared after the kiss chapter, reviews are down. Way down. So this is my blatant attempt to lure readers back with a little suspense. ;) Come on. Hit that review button and give me a reason to keep writing …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Where are _you _going?" Angela eyed Brennan curiously from the doorway. "It's only 3:00."

Brennan finished shutting down her computer and stood. "I haven't heard from my father in over a week. We always talk on Wednesday evenings and he didn't call yesterday."

Angela frowned. "You're going all the way out to Max's place on your own? Sweetie …"

For reasons known only to Max Keenan, he had insisted on acquiring a rambling, somewhat run-down property on the far outskirts of town at the time of his release from jail. This made visiting him inconvenient, and caused Brennan to incur a large amount of loving nagging from her concerned friends, who didn't appreciate her frequently venturing alone into what they referred to as 'the boonies'.

"Booth and I visit much more remote places on a daily basis," she pointed out, grabbing her purse and tossing her cell phone into it.

"That's_ Booth_ and you, Bren," Angela argued. "Not just you on your own. And those remote places you visit tend to have their fair share of dead bodies, which does nothing to reassure me. Does Booth know you're going?"

Brennan pulled on her jacket. "Even though he and I are dating, I don't feel the need to inform him of my every move."

"Meaning you know he wouldn't like it anymore than I do." Angela stepped into the office and approached Brennan, putting her hands on her best friend's shoulders in an attempt to get through. "Bren, I know it's not scientific, but there's just something about that place that gives me the creeps. You need to be careful around there. Something feels … _wrong_."

"I appreciate your concern, Angela, but I'll be fine. I've been to my father's place plenty of times, without encountering any problems."

"There's a big storm moving in and it's all dirt roads back there. Can't you just wait until tomorrow at least?"

"If it starts to rain before I get there, I'll turn back, okay?" Brennan said, offering a rare compromise.

Angela chewed her lower lip and shook her head. "I don't know, Bren …"

Brennan pulled away gently but firmly and headed for the door. "I'll be back by 7:00, long before the storm is supposed to hit. Booth and I are having dinner at a new Italian restaurant. He said something about an animated film called _Lady and the Tramp_,where two individuals share a plate of spaghetti. I didn't understand the reference."

Even that hint at romance didn't make Angela feel any better as she watched Brennan disappear down the hallway.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The wind picked up significantly as Brennan approached Max's property, buffeting her car hard enough to almost push the scientist onto the shoulder of the rutted road that wound its way through a series of small hills to the foot of his long driveway.

Max insisted that he liked being isolated after his experiences in an overcrowded prison. Booth said it probably made him feel like he was still at least a little bit of an outlaw, living in a place not wholly sanctioned by society. Nevertheless, development _was _encroaching on the acreage that Max referred to as "his little piece of heaven." The ruts Brennan was currently bouncing her way across were testament to the heavy machinery that was working the land, smoothing away hills to create new terrain for buildings.

She sighed with relief when Max's house finally came into view at the end of the gravel stretch that she'd helped him install one weekend, as part of what he claimed was "father/daughter bonding." That same weekend she'd helped him repaint, repair shutters and replace multiple window panes, all with the aim of creating a guest bedroom for her.

Those shutters rattled in the growing wind as Brennan got out of the car and hurried for the door. The sky was becoming ominously dark and she realized belatedly that Angela's predictions, while not based on any empirical evidence, had proven more accurate than the weatherman's. She sprinted the last couple of feet onto the porch and hammered on the old wooden door

"Dad?" she called loudly, pulling out her cell phone.

Worry nagged at her as she received no response to either attempt to contact him. It was unlike Max to disappear so completely. Knowing how she felt about her abandonment at age 15, he had made a concerted effort to stay in touch since reappearing in her life. Their Wednesday evening phone calls were something Brennan had come to look forward to, and he'd never missed one since establishing the routine.

She stepped off the porch and made her way around back, to where she knew the windows still had no shutters. Pressing her face to the glass, she peered in, trying to get a glimpse of the interior.

"Dad?"

Gravel crunching behind her took her by surprise. She started to turn, thinking it was probably Max and feeling a surge of simultaneous irritation and relief. Before she could chastise him, a terrible pain exploded behind her occipital bone. Then the world went black.


	39. And I would walk 500 miles

**A/N: Thank you, thank you, **_**thank you**_** for the lovely response to the last section. Your outpouring of reviews made me very happy. :) As such, here's another offering …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela glanced out the window of her office worriedly, tracking the growing expanse of sinister cumulonimbus clouds across DC's skyline.

Hodgins appeared at her side. "We better go if we're going to beat the storm, babe. You still worrying about Brennan?"

"It's 8:00." Angela looked up at him in consternation. "She said she'd be back by 7:00."

"Maybe she went straight to her date, instead of dropping by here first."

The artist shook her head. "Something is wrong," she insisted. "Something felt wrong before she even left."

Hardcore scientist though he was, Hodgins had long ago learned to trust his wife's intuition without requiring facts to support it. He shrugged off his coat and sat down on the edge of the desk. "Did you call Booth yet?"

"Brennan wouldn't like it. She freaks out when she feels like we're hovering."

"That's never stopped you before. Call him." He held out his phone.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth paced the hallway outside Brennan's apartment. It was unlike her to be an hour late for anything, much less not call about it. She wasn't answering her phone either. Trying not to worry, he'd debated going back to his office, but, given the weather conditions, had decided to stay put and wait for her to come home. When his phone rang, he grabbed for it eagerly, only to be disappointed by the name on the Caller ID.

"Yeah?"

"Booth, is Brennan with you?"

"No." Hope died a slow death in Booth's gut at Angela's anxious question. He'd been clinging to the notion that Brennan had gotten held up in a late meeting she couldn't call him from. "You mean she's not at the lab with you guys?"

Angela didn't answer. He could hear the conversation going on in the background.

"_She's not with him, Jack. It's starting to rain." _

"_Maybe she's stuck in traffic."_

"_In the middle of nowhere? I knew something was going to happen. I should never have let her go."_

"Angela!" Booth barked. "Where did Brennan go?"

"Max's place."

"_We need to go after her, Jack."_

"_Ange, it's getting ugly out there. It won't help Brennan any if we get in an accident while looking for her."_

"_What if she's hurt?"_

Visions of unpaved roads, poor cell phone reception and inclement weather overtook Booth's mind. He leaned against a wall and cursed vehemently before putting the phone to his ear again. "How long ago?"

"She left at 3:00."

Booth was surprisingly good at compartmentalizing in certain situations. He snapped the phone shut and started down the hallway. Half of his brain started mapping out a strategy to track down Brennan. The other half began to fervently pray.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan faded back to consciousness slowly. The surface where she lay was far from smooth, causing her to shift uncomfortably. Her eyes blinked open, triggering a sharp flash of pain behind her eyes. A heavy throbbing at the base of her skull, where she'd felt the original explosion of pain, marred her ability to immediately comprehend her surroundings. She was somewhere dark and windy. Gradually she became aware of being cold. Finally, she registered the clouded sky overhead, a tiny sliver of moon protruding from its depths.

She struggled upright, grasping at the rocks scattered around her for purchase. A dull ache suffused the various muscle groups of her body. It took a moment to sink in that she'd been thrown into some kind of a roadside ditch.

Thrown by who?

A rumble overhead warned Brennan that the predicted storm was almost on top of her. Memories of weather forecasts came crowding back, along with Angela's pleas for her to avoid Max's place for another day.

Max's place. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. She'd been knocking on a window at her father's house when something—_somebody_—had struck her from behind, hard enough to render her unconscious. Gingerly, she palpated the back of her scalp, where a large contusion had formed on the external occipital protuberance. Lightning flashed, followed by more thunder.

Brennan climbed to her feet, using the narrow walls of the drainage ditch to propel herself to a standing position so she could survey her situation more fully. Flat landscape greeted her eyes. No hills. Which told her she was at least 5 miles out from her father's place. Furthermore, the road beside the ditch was tar, not dirt. In the distance, she could see the lights of what, presumably, was DC.

No car, no purse, no cell phone … she filed her immediate questions—_Why? Who? Where's my father?—_for later consideration. Right now, all her energy needed to be directed to getting out of the storm. She wondered momentarily whether she should try to head back to her father's place, or aim for the city.

A strong gust of wind made the decision for her. Given that she wasn't entirely certain where Max's place was, heading for the nearest light—whether or not it was the city-seemed the rational thing to do.

Brennan clambered out of the ditch and started down the road, clutching her thin jacket around herself and staggering slightly as the wind threatened to sweep her back off her feet.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Hodgins looked up from his position beside Angela on the couch as Booth appeared on the walkway, soaked to the skin.

"Any luck?" he mouthed, not wanting to upset his wife even further.

Booth shook his head grimly.

Angela glanced up and jumped to her feet, dislodging her attentive husband's protective embrace.

"Well?" she demanded, advancing on Booth. "Where is she?"

Hodgins followed her, attempting to soothe. "Ange—"

"The roads are blocked every other way with accidents," Booth muttered, swiping the rain off his face and bracing himself against the railing. "I couldn't even get halfway to Max's place."

"We don't know if that's where she is," Hodgins pointed out reasonably.

"Send a helicopter with a team of agents out to find her," Angela ordered.

Booth struggled to hold back the tide of rising frustration and fear. "Choppers can't fly in these winds, and I need more authorization than a person who's been missing for six hours to send them out anyways."

"We have to do something!" Angela's eyes filled with tears again. "Maybe she got in a car accident. Or one of Max's old enemies could have gotten to her. She could be _hurt._ We can't just sit and wait for the weather to clear! I never should have let her leave!"

Hodgins pulled her back into his arms, all the while looking over Angela's shoulder at Booth in apprehension.

The FBI Agent clenched his jaw and stalked off down the walkway. He had no plan in mind, other than to go back into the storm and go off-road if necessary, in order to get to Brennan.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The storm had escalated remarkably fast from the moment when the first raindrops hit her face, to its current state of 75 mile an hour winds. Torrents of rain lashed down from the sky, saturating Brennan until she was certain the moisture had reached bone-deep. She'd almost stopped shivering, which was a very bad sign. Lightning flared often, illuminating the empty road ahead of her with eerie yellow flashes. She'd been walking for hours—was almost crawling at this point, really, in the face of the raging downpour-but the lights in the distance still seemed very far away.

Heading away from Max's place had turned out to be a bad decision. At least she could have sheltered in the ditch, but now there was no object in sight, no landmark of any kind which might help shield her from the fury of the driving wind and rain. One or two cars had passed her on the road, but their drivers were uninterested in the sodden figure who attempted to hitchhike.

At least her head was no longer throbbing. In fact, her entire body felt anesthetized, as though she'd been given an extra large injection of fentanyl. Initially, the sharp sting of rain on her skin had been uncomfortable, but that had gradually become a minor concern. Her leaden feet were her primary worry at the moment. Her boot heels slipped in the gathering mud at her feet and she stumbled slightly, barely regaining her balance. Every step felt like she was walking thigh-deep in sand, but she knew that if she stopped for a rest she'd never start again.

She tried to think warm thoughts, whether or not there was any scientific evidence that this would help her present situation. It couldn't hurt. Coffee. Down comforters. Being baked to a crisp on a pristine beach. Fireplaces. Steaming showers. Saunas. Tea. Hot chocolate. Dry socks. Moroccan desert ruins being excavated. The metal of a shovel handle against her palms, heated by the sun and her exertions. Sweat trickling down her vertebrae.

It wasn't enough. Her will to keep moving was fading. She needed a focal point. Something solid to aim for, rather than the potentially ephemeral lights up ahead.

_Booth's dark, intense gaze. _

Brennan pictured him watching her from the end of the long road.

_Booth's laughter. _

She drew warmth from the memory of how his dark chuckle vibrated against her skin.

_Booth's voice. _

Holding his voice inside her mind, almost hearing it urging her forward-_**C'mon, Bones. I'm waitin' on my favorite squint—**_Brennan took another step.

_Booth's hand on her back._

Somehow it almost seemed that there was a tiny flash of warmth at the base of her spine as she imagined his large hand guiding her along.

_Booth's chest._

She let out a small sob at the intense longing that overcame her to be able to lean her head against his solid frame and rest.

_Booth's smile. _

The picture of a full-on Booth grin directed only at her, as though she were the center of his universe, thawed her iced-over metatarsals ever so slightly.

_Booth's kiss._

Brennan flashed back to their meeting at the Hoover Building. Booth arriving late, pleading.

_**Will you take two steps forward and trust me to catch you like that parachute did?**_

That first touch of his lips on her skin, trailing heatedly upwards, stopping just before they met their mark.

_**Tell me what you want, Bones. At this point I'll give you anything. **_

And the heat as their mouths finally, _finally_ met, radiating all the way from the soles of her boots to her fingertips.

She took two more frozen steps, trusting that he would be there to catch her if she slipped.

_Booth's arms. _

He'd held her so many times, for so many reasons. Brennan surrounded herself with the image of his muscular arms closing around her, blocking out the relentless wind.

_Booth's faith._

He would be out in the storm looking, believing he could find her in spite of the wind and the rain, believing she wouldn't quit on him. Believing God would keep her safe until he got to her side. Brennan knew it and felt immense remorse at the decision that had left her stranded on the side of windy road and now had her partner out in similarly dangerous conditions, scouring the highways.

_Booth's songs._

A hint of _Sunshine _warmed her briefly. She thought of all the research he had done. The careful preparation for each stage of their dates. Had she ever really thanked him?

_Booth's words._

**I love you, Bones. From that first day. You are everything, all at once, forever.**

He'd showed her over and over how important she was to him. But she had never told him how she felt. It was suddenly of utmost importance. She couldn't lie down and rest until he knew that he had become, against all odds, her everything.

Brennan hunched her shoulders against the wind and picked up the pace.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: I would love to hear thoughts on chapter length. Do you, as readers, prefer 7000 word installations? Or are smaller sectioned chapters more convenient, since it seems that some of you read on your phones?**

**Anybody catch the chapter title's song reference? ;)**


	40. Frozen

**A/N: Okay, so the overall consensus seems to have been that longer chapters are preferred over shorter ones, unless it interferes with updating. And, the way this section of the story is shaping up, it does. So there will probably be a few more short sections before we get into the longer chapters you requested. Many thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for her brilliant beta work.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I tried. The roads are impassable and it's pitch black outside. The SUV was being blown every which way. Even if I could get past the rough terrain, I wouldn't have a clue where I was headed."

Taking a turn as the calm one in the equation, Angela followed Booth as he paced the platform, trying to get him to take a sip of hot coffee or at least shed his soaking jacket in exchange for a blanket.

"Dammit!" Booth rounded on Angela unexpectedly, almost making her spill the drink. "She's out there somewhere, and I can't get to her."

"We'll find her, Booth," Angela said, "As soon as this storm dies down, you'll convince Cullen to send the choppers out. We _will _find her."

"Yeah, but in what condition?" he demanded, striking his fist against the couch. "Frozen solid? Drowned somewhere in a ditch?"

Angela's hand shot out, covering his mouth. _"Don't," _she said fiercely. "Brennan's going to be fine. Jack, call her cell phone again."

"I'm going out again," Booth muttered, pulling away from Angela.

Hodgins stepped forward and blocked the platform stairs. "You winding up dead in a car wreck is not going to help Brennan any."

"And what _will _help her, Hodgins?" snapped Booth. "Standing here doing nothing? You're the smart one, bug man, what the hell have you done to help find her?"

"Booth," Angela protested, stepping in between the two men.

"Excuse me." A security guard entered their field of vision, interrupting Hodgins' derisive retort. "There is a man in a car outside insisting that he speak to Agent Booth. He will not leave the car and he's currently double-parked."

Booth was already halfway down the stairs, followed closely by Angela and Hodgins.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth was forced to slow down as soon as he exited the building. The pavement was so slick that he was liable to fall flat on his face if he didn't step carefully.

As quickly as possible, he made his way to the idling Ford pick-up, an older model that should definitely not have been out on the road in this weather. The driver rolled down his window, flinching at the intrusion of rain. He was young, probably in his thirties, beer-bellied with a dirty baseball cap pulled low over his brow, so Booth couldn't properly see his face. His passenger seat was crammed from floor to ceiling with a bale of hay, which he apparently _really _did not want getting wet.

"Are you Booth?" he yelled over the roar of the rain.

Booth stuck his head halfway in the pick-up and nodded, peripherally aware of Hodgins and Angela hovering nearby. "That's me. Why?"

The driver jerked a thumb in the direction of the tarp-covered truck bed.

"I found her walking on the side of the road. She's half frozen, but she told me to drive here. Kept asking for Booth."

By the time the driver finished his sentence, Booth was already halfway into the truck bed, yanking aside the flimsy tarp.

"_Jesus." _The word was at once an epithet and a prayer.

Brennan was curled in a fetal position on the cold, damp steel of the truck bed. Her clothes were so sodden with rain that they had virtually become a second skin. In the harsh street lights, her pallid features looked almost blue. She was shoeless, her feet bloodied and tucked up against her stomach in a vain attempt to get warm.

Every murderous instinct residing within Booth floated to the surface. First, he would execute the people who put Brennan on the side of the road, where she was prey to lowlifes like the truck driver. Then he would dismember the truck driver for placing a priority on dry hay, rather than his partner's safety.

But now was not the time.

Booth dropped to his knees and yanked off his coat, wrapping Brennan's limp frame in the jacket as he lifted her into his arms and jumped from the truck. Hodgins was waiting and steadied his landing, keeping him from sliding sideways.

"Get the license plate number," Booth ordered, not looking back.

It took everything he had not to sprint with his precious burden all the way up to the isolation showers. Instead he walked quickly—very quickly—barking orders at Hodgins and Angela.

"See if you can get an ambulance out in this weather. Towels. Blankets. Space heaters. Tea."

"Booth." Brennan's exhausted, almost inaudible voice reached his lips, sending chills of gratitude down his spine. She was alive, if barely.

"I got you, Bones." His voice was thick with emotion as he reached the door to the Jeffersonian and ducked past the guard holding it open. He didn't dare speak another word, for fear of breaking down completely. Not now.

He was vaguely aware of Angela speed-walking alongside him, talking to Brennan, of Hodgins scrambling to retrieve any electrical contraption that could generate heat.

He didn't stop until he hit the isolation room, stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast, reluctantly leaving the setting at _warm _rather than hot, knowing Brennan needed no further shocks to her system. Her skin was like a sheet of ice.

"Scissors," he rapped out at Angela, who had entered the shower with him. "Gotta get these clothes off her."

Already prepared, she held up a pair of Hodgins' pruning shears and went to work, carefully cutting away the sodden fabric as Booth continued to cradle Brennan.

Hodgins entered the isolation room and Booth automatically, absurdly, shielded Brennan's body from the entomologist.

"An ambulance will take hours to get here, with all the other accidents out on the road, but Cam's on her way," Hodgins said, averting his gaze. "She doesn't live very far. She says we have to get warm fluids into Brennan as soon as possible. I've got water boiling."

Somehow managing to remain composed, Angela snipped away the last of Brennan's bra and shirt and slid them off her best friend's shoulders with Booth's assistance. She knelt and began cutting away the slacks Brennan had worn to work that day.

Booth had fantasized about having her naked in his arms for years, but not like this. God, not like this. A surge of nausea made him struggle for composure in the small shower.

He kept his eyes trained on Brennan's weary, beautiful face, trying to afford her some kind of dignity under the circumstances. Her eyes flickered open unexpectedly, stopping his heart for a moment with their tired yet clear focus.

"Booth."

"Shh," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Tell me everything later, Bones. Later. Right now, just rest."

"My father …"

"Angela told me. We'll find him. As soon as this storm blows over, we'll find him, I promise. Shh."

Her eyes drifted shut again and her head nodded forward against his chest.

"Should I let her sleep?" Booth demanded in a sudden panic. "Is that okay? Do I need to keep her awake?"

"I think letting her rest is fine for the minute," Angela said gently, peeling away the remnants of Brennan's slacks and panties. "I'll go help Jack warm towels."

Booth barely heard her. His entire focus was on the woman in his arms. She was starting to shiver. That was a good thing, right?

She mumbled something and suddenly thrashed against him.

"It's okay," he murmured, rocking her slightly in his arms, ensuring the warm flow of water played evenly over her battered skin. "It's gonna be okay, baby." He pressed his lips to her temple softly. "I love you so much, Bones. You have to be okay."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Where is she?" Cam skidded through the doorway to the Jeffersonian, nearly colliding with Hodgins, who had been waiting.

"In the shower." Hodgins led the dripping forensic pathologist down the hallway toward the isolation room.

They stepped inside and Cam held up a hand, cautioning Hodgins to be silent. The pathologist wasn't given to sentimentality, and was notorious for her terrible bedside manner. There was a reason she'd graduated to being a doctor to the dead instead of the living. But even she knew she had to proceed carefully here. Booth looked like he'd pull out his gun—the FBI-issued gun he was wearing in the shower—and kill anybody who tried to take his partner from his arms.

He was sitting, fully clothed, under the spray with Brennan cradled carefully against his soaking shirt. His lips moved, murmuring inaudible words as he kissed her matted hair tenderly. The expression on his face was wrenching. Cam wondered if the FBI Agent was even aware that the rivulets running down his cheeks were as much tears as they were shower droplets.


	41. Turbulence

**A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to encounter some turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts and trust that I, the current captain of this literary endeavor, will see our star-crossed duo through to safety, even if it takes a few chapters to get there …**

**Thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for her eternally patient, insightful beta work!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth held vigil for the second straight day, standing only to stretch his aching back occasionally. It was yet another first he had never expected to have happen quite this way: Bones in his bed, just an arm's length away, wrapped almost naked in his sheets. A fantasy he'd cherished for years of Brennan-imposed 'self-gratification,' except for the unconscious bit. Usually in his dreams she was a lot more responsive.

The first night she'd been catatonic and Angela had suggested putting her on the large Egyptian bed after it became obvious the rain wasn't going to let up. Even though Cam had reassured him that the mild concussion and symptoms of shock were not life-threatening, Brennan's completely motionless state had alarmed Booth. He sat up with her all night, leaning in frequently to make sure she was breathing, feeling for a pulse every hour or so.

The second day, with the storm at least somewhat abating and Cam giving the medical thumbs up, he relocated her to his apartment. To his bed, where she continued to sleep soundly for another 12 hours under his watchful eye. Now, as she finally began to come out of the hypothermic stupor, she moved around more, thrashing restlessly. He tried to hold her, to calm her, but that only seemed to agitate her more, so he opted for sitting in a chair beside the bed again.

Even halfway comatose, she was lovely. Booth had to keep covering her back up as her long limbs went akimbo, seemingly seeking to drive him crazy even while their owner was dead to the world. Several slivers of sunlight edged their way through the blinds and came to rest in two lines directly parallel to Brennan, framing her in daylight's early rays. When she flopped over with a faint moan, the sun moved with her, glinting gold in her tangled copper waves.

She mumbled something agitatedly, lashing out with her arms and legs at the shadows of her dreams.

"Shhh." Booth stroked her long hair, wishing he could brush out the matted knots that were undoubtedly tugging at her scalp, adding to her discomfort. "You're safe."

Her features tightened and he held her hand until the lines of worry smoothed away, talking to her softly in case she could somehow hear him in her sleep.

Fatigue nagged at him, and he brushed it away without much thought. More worrisome was the anger he'd recognized growing in him over the last day or so. Anger towards himself, towards the people who hurt Brennan, towards the truck driver. And, misdirected though it might have been, Booth was becoming painfully aware that he was also somewhat angry at Brennan for putting herself in a dangerous situation yet again.

He was accustomed to running a gamut of emotions in his relationship with the anthropologist, but anger wasn't high on the list. Usually his feelings were more along the lines of exasperation.

Brennan rolled over again, dislodging the sheets Booth had carefully tucked around her. He covered her yet again, shoving the anger to the bottom of the pile of emotions he was currently dealing with. Right now his feelings were unimportant. All that mattered was making sure he hadn't lied to her—that she was well and truly safe.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

If Brennan had been her usual self, she might have commented on finally having enough empirical evidence to understand what it meant to metaphorically 'rise' back to consciousness. She slowly drifted upward through layers of sleep and dreams, vaguely aware of someone nearby murmuring encouragement before breaking through to the surface of consciousness and opening her eyes tentatively.

She blinked repeatedly, trying to focus her fuzzy gaze on some familiar object that might aid in jogging her memory. Sunlit blinds—her room had curtains—cluttered dresser—not her own neat bureau, that was certain, nary a necklace in sight—piles of laundry scattered around the stretch of floor she could see without moving—where was her wicker hamper?

Trying to avoid moving her aching head, Brennan shifted her gaze to the sheets she lay upon. Black sheets, black comforter. No Mandinkan tribal pattern. Understanding hovered right on the edge of her tired brain, finally crystallizing as she realized she was wearing a familiar, worn FBI T-shirt.

Not her room. Booth's bedroom. Booth's shirt. Booth's sheets.

"Booth?" She tried to call his name, only to find that her salivary glands and vocal cords had apparently gone into retirement while she was unconscious. She spent a couple moments reaffirming her ownership of her parotid gland before trying again.

"Booth?"

He appeared in the bedroom door, knotting his tie. "Welcome back, Bones."

Something was off about his casual greeting. Brennan's currently compromised brain function, at least in the area of processing data, couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"Why am I here?" she rasped, waving a limp hand.

"You never gave me the key to your place," he replied, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. "Didn't think you'd want me busting down the door. Have some water."

He went to her side and proffered a glass that had been sitting on the bedside table. Seeing that she was having trouble sitting up, he seemed to sigh, but sat down on the edge of the bed nonetheless and helped prop her up against the headboard with several large pillows.

She took several long swallows, grateful to feel moisture returning to her parched cells.

"How you feeling?" he asked, sliding his arm out from behind her and standing again.

"Tired," she admitted, still thinking something wasn't quite right about his overall behavior and wishing her mind would clear enough to figure out what, exactly.

"I've gotta head into the office for a few hours. Cullen has some meeting with big guns that I can't miss. I was about to call Angela to come stay with you.

She frowned. "I'm fine. I don't require supervision."

Now he definitely sighed and paused in putting on the suit jacket he'd taken from the back of a chair. "You're not fine, Bones. You've been unconscious for almost 72 hours. Promise me you won't do anything stupid while I'm out, okay?"

"Okay," she answered in confusion, watching him check his hair in the small mirror above his dresser and adjust his belt buckle. A memory flared briefly, like the spark of a match that his memory had lit while on that icy road. "Booth, I have to tell you something."

He brushed his lips over her forehead. "Rest. Tell me when I get back."

He hadn't kissed her, she realized belatedly as he left the room without further comment. A few minutes later she heard the definitive click of the door as he exited the apartment. He hadn't even really smiled, or paid her much attention. It occurred to her that he almost seemed … angry. Why?

Brennan swung her legs over the edge of the bed, frustrated at the fog that still lingered over her brain, impeding her usual rational thought process. It took a concerted effort to get to her feet, holding tightly to the nightstand with one hand as she did. Her body felt leaden, as though she'd been prematurely embalmed.

Once vertical and fairly certain that she could remain that way for at least a couple of minutes, she took stock of her situation. No money, no cell phone, no shoes. Not even any real clothes. Booth was angry, for reasons she didn't understand, and in her present state she was afraid that if he came home and was still angry, she might do something inane like cry.

The only thing that was completely clear at the moment was that she needed to leave. She picked up the bedside phone and dialed 411.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth hovered outside in the hallway, feeling like a heel. He knew how confused Brennan must be, waking up in an unfamiliar space after several days and finding her partner—the one recognizable thing—cold and distant.

When he'd seen that she was awake, his first instinct had been to tell Cullen to go to hell and then crawl back in bed with Brennan. That instinct had been tempered with the awareness that Brennan didn't do well with smothering. And Booth was feeling distinctly smothering at the moment, to the extent that he wanted to lock her in a room and throw away the key to make sure that she never wound up in a similar situation again.

On the heels of that thought rode another impulse—the desire to give Brennan hell for what she'd put him through over the last couple days. If she hadn't been so damn stubborn, if she'd just listened to Angela's advice, if she'd stopped to think about the weather … she wouldn't be in his room, in his bed, looking like some kind of obscenely beautiful fallen angel lying amidst the tangle of his sheets.

So he'd acted like an absolute jerk and got the hell out of the bedroom as fast as he could, before he could smother her with love, or smother her with a pillow, whichever came first.

He promised himself that he'd make it up to her when he got home from work, but that did nothing to assuage the guilt that followed him all the way to the Hoover Building.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Temperance, if you don't open up in about 3 seconds, I'm going to kick this door in!" Booth hammered on the door, feeling his anger and worry grow with every minute she didn't answer him.

Just as he drew back to make good on his promise, the door to her apartment swung open. He didn't wait to be invited in, shoving straight past Brennan into the living room and kicking the door shut behind him as he went. He rounded on her, raking her from head to toe with one furious look. An electric surge of relief darted through him when he confirmed that she was at least still in one piece. She was wrapped in an oversized bathrobe, and her hair, while still a tangled mess, was soaking wet and dripping liberally on the wooden floor.

"I was in the shower," she said coldly. "You could have been a little more patient.'

Booth prayed for self-control. His tie and socks weren't near flashy enough for this situation.

"You took a shower. By yourself. With a head injury."

"I was careful. I _am _capable of bathing myself, Booth."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know what you mean," Brennan retorted, turning her back and heading down the hallway.

If she hadn't been hurt, he would've grabbed her arm and spun her round again to face him. Clenching his fists instead, he followed her towards the bedroom, where she stepped inside and slammed the door in his face.

"_Temperance_—"

"I'm changing."

"You've got 5 minutes before I join you in there," he warned. He waited, fuming, until she re-emerged dressed in jeans and a lavender peasant blouse and headed for the kitchen, as though he wasn't standing there with steam coming out of his ears.

When she began calmly removing vegetables from the fridge, Booth grabbed her wrists and bumped the fridge door shut with his hip. "I asked you a question. What do you think you're doing?"

She twisted her wrists free and glared at him. "I think it would be obvious that I am making dinner prior to going out."

"Out?" he repeated dangerously. "You're not going anywhere."

"There's nothing you can do to stop me." She moved away from him, putting the kitchen island between them. "And I don't appreciate being treated like an invalid."

_St. Monica, grant me patience._ "I got back from work and you were nowhere to be found. Why?"

"I needed to do things."

"Things." Booth ground his teeth. "What things?"

"Cancel my credit cards, for one. Purchase a new cell phone. Research new vehicles, since I currently have no method of transportation."

_Okay, Monica, help would __**really **__be appreciated right about now, 'cause I'm about to lose it … _"And none of those … things … could wait a few more hours. Like till I got home, maybe."

"The person who assaulted me might have attempted to use my credit cards. It was imperative that I inform my bank of the situation."

She began methodically removing glasses from the dishwasher.

"Dammit, Temperance!" Booth exploded. "That's the second time you've scared the life out of me in less than 3 days!"

Her hands lingered in mid-air, between the cupboard and the dishwasher. "Why?"

He shook his head at her utter obliviousness. "_Because_ you were recently knocked on the head unconscious and left for dead in the worst summer squall DC has seen in 17 years. Because the person who knocked you unconscious is still out there and has all your credit cards, identification, your car keys, house keys, you name it. Because, maybe, just maybe, I thought that person had tracked you down and finished the job!"

She put the glass away and turned to face him, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Your reasoning is logical. I'm sorry if I worried you. It seems I wasn't thinking rationally at the time."

"Why'd you leave, Bones?" He leaned against the fridge, suddenly exhausted. "I know it wasn't because of _things_."

"You seemed angry at me. I didn't feel welcome."

"Ah, Bones," he groaned. "You know you're always welcome with me. You just… you have to cut me a little slack here. I haven't slept in three days. I've been worried sick. And yeah, I'll admit I was kind of pissed off that you put yourself in danger, yet again, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt helpless, you know?"

"It wasn't my intention to put myself in harm's way," she pointed out. "I didn't expect the weather to change so quickly."

"And you weren't expecting to be knocked unconscious and left for dead, I know, I know," Booth sighed. "It's just … you should've listened to Angela, Bones. I didn't find you. That was left to some jackass truck driver whose ass I am going to seriously kick once we bring him in for questioning. If he hadn't come along though—" Booth shuddered at the thought.

"I'm glad you didn't find me!" Brennan exclaimed. "If you had, it would have meant you were out on the road, endangering your own wellbeing because of my error in judgment."

"I'll endanger my own wellbeing for _your _wellbeing any damn day," Booth snapped heatedly. "My being pissed off doesn't excuse how I treated you though. I'm sorry. Probably I was a little distracted this morning because I needed to get to the office for the meeting about opening a case file on your father. Cullen's a little alarmed at not knowing his whereabouts."

"My father," Brennan repeated softly, staring at the dishtowel fixedly.

Booth stifled a groan. He knew she didn't intentionally drive him crazy with worry. That was just part of Brennan being Brennan. And to bring her father up so abruptly, when she had to be worried sick about his wellbeing, was tantamount to cruelty.

"Bones." He moved to her side and tilted her chin up towards him. "I'm sorry."

Her blue eyes were reddened and glistening. "I'm afraid he's gone again."

Booth knew better than to try and sugar-coat things. There was a definite possibility that Max Keenan had gotten himself into trouble and was on the run again.

"If he is, we'll find him. We did last time."

"He found us," Brennan corrected, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to lose my family all over again, Booth."

Her voice cracked painfully.

"You won't, baby. You've got Russ. And I will find Max. I promise." He kissed her temple and ran his fingers through her hair, or tried to anyway. "Do you really have to go out tonight?"

"I have work to catch up on."

"It'll still be there in the morning. I know you don't like to admit it, but you need to rest after what you went through, Bones. Stay in tonight with me. I'll order us some Thai …"

She lifted her head, smiling slightly and he brushed a soft kiss across her lips.

"I love you." He rested his head against her forehead. "I'm sorry if you had any reason to question that this morning."

"I didn't. Even when I knew you were upset with me, I still knew you loved me."

She could've knocked him over with a feather, he was so surprised.

"Bones, you just made me a very happy guy." He kissed her again, lingering as her lips parted under his invitingly. He kept the kiss shallow, knowing fireworks like the kind he wanted to generate with her were uncalled for at the moment. "Come sit down. I'll help you brush out your hair."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He sat on the couch, carefully easing a comb through the tangles as Brennan sat on the floor in front of him, working her way through more than her fair share of Thai.

"Leave some for me," he complained. "This is taking longer than expected."

"I can comb my hair while you eat."

"No." He lifted another strand of hair and began to slowly unknot it, stopping every now and then to press his lips to the nape of Brennan's neck.

She shivered pleasantly and reached back with an arm to pull his head down to hers for a long, slow kiss.

"You taste like Thai," Booth grumbled against her mouth. "It's making me even hungrier than I already am."

He broke the kiss, giving her a wide grin before returning to his work.

Brennan shoved the food aside and closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle play of his fingers against her scalp.

"Booth, why are you so nice to me?"

"Because you're ridiculously gorgeous, even when your hair is a dead ringer for Medusa's," he teased.

She slapped his kneecap. "Seriously, Booth. I caused you a great deal of concern over the last few days, not to mention loss of sleep. You have every right to still be angry with me."

"I am, a little," he conceded. "But that doesn't make how I reacted this morning any more acceptable. I'm nice to you because that's the way you deserve to be treated. You're the one who has a right to be angry at this point."

"I'm not." She reached up to caress his jaw.

He pressed a warm kiss to her wrist. "When I get finished here, you wanna watch a movie in bed?"

"Can I choose?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I want you to watch _Say Anything _with me."

"If that's my punishment for this morning, I guess I'll take it," Booth groaned. "Or maybe I'll just spend an extra long time back here and you might fall asleep …"

"It's a good movie!" she insisted. "It goes well with your concept of musical valentines."

"Uh-huh," he answered, not sounding the least bit convinced.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The movie wasn't as bad as he'd feared, which turned out to be a plus since Brennan fell asleep in his arms almost immediately and Booth couldn't reach the remote control to turn the damn thing off. Tired as he was, he watched the whole thing through because he felt like he owed that much to her, at least.

When the credits finally rolled, he snapped off the bedside lamp and slid closer to Brennan. She turned towards him in her sleep, mumbling, and he kissed her softly-scented hair.

"Shhh."

She quieted and Booth sent up a prayer of gratitude for this exact moment in time. He had the woman he loved in his arms. She was soft and warm and safe and sound. And she'd managed to break past her fears far enough to understand that even if he screwed up occasionally, it didn't mean he loved her any less. In Seeley Booth's mind, that right there qualified as a definite miracle.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Just a warning, per my original A/N, things are going to be slightly bumpy for a short while from here on out, even if things ended on a happy note in the above chapter. Bear with me, please. The course of true love never did run smooth.**


	42. Date 8

**A/N: Thanks to Brilliant Beta Eternal Destiny 304. Go read her fic **_**Ice Skating **_**if you haven't already. Definitely puts a new, very tender spin on **_**The Fire In the Ice.**_

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan scrutinized the Revolutionary War skeleton she was taking extensive notes on before beginning actual physical examination. Initially, when she had extracted the remains from their assigned bone box she had anticipated nothing more than a typical open-and-shut identification. The minute she'd arranged the bones on a table, however, things had taken a very interesting turn.

The beep of the Jeffersonian's security system alerted Brennan to a new arrival on the platform. She raised her head and smiled as Booth charged up the stairs. There was no other way to describe his three-step-at-a-time approach, making a beeline straight for her workspace.

"Let's go, Bones!" He clapped his hands. "Multiple bodies found in President's Park when some gardener was installing a deep-pipe irrigation system."

"Multiple bodies?" she repeated, peeling off her gloves. "How many is that?"

"I don't know how many, Bones. That's why we have to get there, so you can do the counting. You know, figure out which bone belongs to what body …" He assisted her with removing the lab coat, sliding it off and tossing it onto a nearby chair, "It's right across from the White House, so Secret Service is gonna be all over the place. They want IDs done yesterday."

"That's a service I unfortunately can't provide," Brennan commented dryly as they swung by her office.

She stooped to pick up her bag from behind the computer desk where an intern unfamiliar with her preferences had placed it. As she straightened, Booth crowded in behind the desk with her, propelling her backwards until her thighs hit the back of her computer chair.

"What are —"

He answered her question by grabbing her shoulders and diving in for a hard kiss that Brennan reciprocated as soon as she got her wits about her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into the sheer pleasure of his masculine touch and taste.

"You shouldn't have come in to work today," he scolded lightly when they came up for air. "You need to be well-rested for tonight's date."

"We're going on a date?" She leaned in for another kiss, not quite willing to end the moment yet.

He chuckled and dodged her lips. "Got a case to get to, Bones," he teased. "You can kiss me all you want later."

She grabbed the lapels of his coat and towed him back in for another round that Booth didn't resist in the slightest, in spite of the remains awaiting identification.

"I'll say this for you, Dr. Brennan," he muttered, "If kisses had IQs, yours would be in the genius range."

She snorted and slugged his shoulder none too gently, eliciting a startled yelp.

"Geez, Bones!"

"That comment was nonsensical to the extreme." She ducked under his arm. "My IQ has no bearing on my ability to engage in vertical foreplay."

"I was paying you a compliment!" Booth protested, rubbing his shoulder and following her out the door. _"And that wasn't foreplay,"_ he hissed, dropping his voice considerably.

"Foreplay is an intimate physical act intended to create a further desire for sexual activity. The intention of our present physical encounters is to stimulate arousal for Week 6, at which point we will engage in intercourse. Therefore, kissing qualifies as foreplay."

"_The 'intention' was to kiss you because I like to kiss you, not because I necessarily want to go at it in your office with everybody watching._ _Can we please not discuss our sex life in the middle of the Jeffersonian?" _

Before she could make another similarly-directed comment, he snatched her bag away.

"Hey!"

He resisted her attempts to retrieve it, drawing amused grins from various Jeffersonian interns in the process. "You need your rest for tonight, Bones. Let me be gentlemanly."

"The bag weighs next to nothing. Why do I need to be well-rested?"

"Our date is going to require physical stamina," he answered vaguely, unlocking the car door with the remote.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Did I pull you away from anything interesting?" Booth asked as they merged into highway traffic.

"My work is always absorbing," Brennan replied. "But, actually, yes. You interrupted an unusually intriguing investigation."

"Y'know, Bones, an appropriate answer might have been 'No, Booth, my work with _you _is very interesting, of course you weren't interrupting.'"

"There's no connection between our work together and my interest in the Revolutionary War skeleton," she said in confusion. "Both are interesting in different ways."

He sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. What was so interesting about these particular remains?"

"They belong to a teenager about 15."

Booth shrugged, eyes on the traffic light ahead. "Kids went to war early back then."

"Generally not female kids."

"Whoa!" Booth glanced sideways at her. "He's a she?"

"Gender-reassignment surgeries didn't exist at the time. She was never a he. She was always a she."

"The soldier was a woman?" A 2010 Prius just in front of him braked sharply as the light turned from yellow to red. Booth tapped his horn sharply. "Weren't they all supposed to be home cleaning and caring for babies or something at that point in time?"

"That's a generalization but, yes, at the time it was anthropologically expected for women to marry young and bear children repeatedly. Infant mortality was extremely high, so a large family was considered a kind of societal insurance."

"Had this woman … at 15 she wasn't really a woman, no matter what society said. Had this kid had kids yet?" The light turned green and they moved forward slowly.

"Society's definition of a woman has changed considerably since then. At the time, if she was menstruating she would have been considered fully grown. Dorsal pitting of the pubis indicates that, yes, she had borne at least one child, if not more. However, that is not what made this an investigation of unusual interest."

Booth raised his eyebrows. "So there was a fifteen year old mother running around the battlefield where cannon balls were flying, bayonets were being arbitrarily stabbed into the nearest warm body, and muskets were firing roughly three rounds a minute. But that isn't interesting in your book."

"Not particularly." Brennan shrugged. "Women frequently defied the social mores of the time and followed their husbands to encampments, where they cooked, cleaned and nursed the soldiers. They are also known to have fought in their husbands' places on more than one occasion. This young woman, however, defied another conventional societal stereotype. Facial features indicate that she was Negroid."

He turned onto Ohio Drive. "Couldn't a black female teenager have been drafted to help with cooking and cleaning too?"

"Particulates in her clothing clearly indicate that she was on the battlefield at the time of death. Bone indentations show she suffered multiple stab wounds, along with at least one gunshot to the right femur. Ossification of previously healed fractures indicates this was not her first time in combat."

Secret Service Agents swarmed the SUV as it pulled up to the curb, squeezing in between 2 vans from competing news networks. Booth put the car in park and turned to his partner. "Well, the sooner we get done here, the sooner you can get back to identifying the mystery soldier lady."

He waved Brennan on her way while he dealt with the extremely large men in dark suits and sunglasses.

She lifted the yellow tape and stepped under, avoiding the various political minions floating around like so many short-lived mayflies. The location of the bodies couldn't have been more obvious: A deep trench at the far west end of the park, surrounded by additional yellow tape and more individuals who were carelessly trampling the crime scene.

"Booth!" she complained loudly over her shoulder. "These people are destroying potential evidence."

He caught up with her and followed in her wake as she stalked toward the trench. "Not much I can do about it, Bones. Half of them are Secret Service and the others are probably all Homeland Security. Until you tell them that tose bodies and whoever put them there aren't a direct threat to the President, they ain't leavin'."

Brennan stopped at the edge of the muddy ditch and looked down into it, assessing the situation quickly. "It's likely that whoever buried these remains had no interest in the President."

Booth frowned and stepped up beside her. "That was fast, even for you …" he trailed off, feeling horror and sadness rise in his throat viscerally. He moved away, trying to block out the image of four tiny bodies positioned carefully side by side. There was no need for Brennan to tell him the age of the victims this time.

A few minutes later, Brennan appeared at his side with her overalls covered in mud.

"Are you okay?"

"They're kids, right?" He waved in the general direction of the grave.

"Three girls and a boy, probably all younger than 10, buried less than a month, judging by the stage of decomposition."

"Four kids buried right in front of the White House gates and nobody sees a damn thing." Booth shook his head and cursed. "Any idea how they died yet?"

"The backhoe used by the landscaper did considerable damage to the remains, but it looks like blunt force trauma to the head was a factor in each of their deaths."

"Did they suffer?"

"I have to analyze the evidence much more closely before I can attempt to answer that." She put her hand on his arm tentatively as he reclined against a nearby tree, head bowed. "Booth, we'll find who did this."

He nodded distantly.

"We'll figure out who these children are." She maneuvered to make sure he was looking in her eyes as she spoke intensely. "We'll return their remains to their families for a proper burial, and you will bring their killers to justice, Booth. I know you will."

"Thanks, Bones." He pushed away from the tree. "Send everything back to the Jeffersonian, right?"

They walked together back toward the mass grave, shoulders grazing each other so slightly that neither was probably aware of the strength each drew from the light physical contact.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He arrived at the Jeffersonian at 11:15 and wasn't the least bit surprised to find Brennan still hunched over a table, carefully analyzing each minute skeletal fragment. Booth tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped, looking over her shoulder at him.

"I didn't hear you come in."

Nobody else was on the platform at the minute, so Booth took the opportunity to move in close behind her and press a kiss to her temple. "You need to take it easy, Bones. Four days ago you got knocked unconscious and nearly froze to death, remember?"

To his surprise, she leaned back and rested her full weight against him, dropping her head against his shoulder. Booth slid his arms around her waist.

"You okay?"

"My trapezius muscle is extremely tight and is indirectly resulting in a headache."

Concerned, he steered her away from the table and toward her office. "Forget the date. I'm taking you home and putting you to bed right away."

"No." Brennan planted her feet firmly, bringing them to a halt. "I want to go on this date, Booth. I've been … looking forward to it most of the afternoon."

"Bones—"

She turned and looked at him. "It's almost the end of Week 4 and we haven't gone out at all. I want to go out tonight. Please."

There was no way to resist those stubborn, beautiful blue eyes.

"Fine," he relented. "Fine. But we're going to take it easy. And if you feel the least bit sick, you tell me, you hear?"

"I hear." She smiled and Booth swore he could feel his insides turn to chocolate pudding. Dark chocolate. The very richest kind.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan looked questioningly up at the dollar theater marquis. "I thought you said the date would involve physical activity."

"Trust me, Bones. Two for _MacGyver_," Booth told the ticket seller.

"_MacGyver_?" Brennan repeated. "I've never even heard of that."

"That's not really a standard you want to judge movies by, Bones," he reminded her, taking the tickets.

"Is it one of those classics you say I need to educate myself about?"

Booth led her toward the entrance and handed over their tickets. "No, actually, if the previews were anything to go on, it really stank. I think it went straight to DVD."

She frowned. "Then why are we watching it?"

"You'll see. Or, you won't, actually." Booth bypassed the concession stand.

"Wait." Brennan tugged on his hand. "I want popcorn."

"No popcorn tonight, Bones. C'mon." He attempted to move her along.

"You said a movie without popcorn has no flavor. Or something like that. I feel like popcorn," she insisted.

"Bones," he said in exasperation, "Would you just trust me on this? You don't want popcorn. Really. Come on. We're about 30 minutes late, so the movie's probably well underway, if the previews didn't take too long."

"Why are we watching a movie that's already started?"

He ignored her question and pushed her towards Screen 7.

"Why don't we just wait for another showing?"

"Shhh, Bones. Somebody might actually be watching this thing." He ushered her into the darkened theater.

They stood for a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust as some loud explosion or other occurred on screen. Only 2 other people were in the room with them.

"This doesn't seem like a very popular film," Brennan whispered loudly, starting toward the center.

Booth pulled her back. "We're sitting over here."

He guided her into the very back row.

"We can't see well from here!" she complained. "Booth, you don't appear to have thought this date through as well as the others."

"I haven't exactly had a lot of time lately," he pointed out, sitting down. Brennan moved to do the same and he caught her, smoothly maneuvering her onto his lap sideways

"What are you doing? I can't watch a movie like this."

Booth clamped a hand over her mouth, stopping her fussing. He settled her so that her back was rested against the arm of a chair, grinning at the furious sparking of her eyes. If he didn't unhand her shortly, she'd definitely bite him. Then again, that was sort of what he had in mind for the evening anyway.

"We never got to be teenagers together, Bones," he said removing his hand and running his thumb down her cheek lightly. "I thought we might try it. A dark movie theater seemed like a good place for a little old-fashioned necking."

The look on her face was priceless.

"_You _want to initiate foreplay in public?" Brennan's 'quiet' voice carried clearly through the theater, but the other two moviegoers didn't appear to mind. "This is what you meant by physical activity?"

"Now who's being prudish?" Booth chuckled. "The rules are, we keep this as PG-13 as possible. Clothes stay on. Hands remain above the waistline. Deal?"

By way of reply, she hooked an arm around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

"Easy, Bones," he whispered, resisting her insistent attempts to kiss him furiously. "We're teenagers, remember?" He stroked the arm that was not currently wrapped in a chokehold around him. "Maybe I've never done this before … I could be a little nervous … you could try shy … Close your eyes, baby …"

Booth kissed her eyelids, closing them for her. He drew his fingers through her hair as he brushed his lips back and forth across hers, lingering at the bow in her upper lip, sucking lightly at the full curve of the bottom lip, teasing the seam of both lips with the tip of his tongue.

He hadn't bargained on teenage-Brennan taking her role quite so seriously. The tip of her tongue met his tentatively, barely touching him before retreating. The brief contact was electric and Booth automatically moved to deepen the kiss, only to find Brennan shying away with a soft, girlish giggle that put his insides on a rollercoaster that definitely would have done any terrified teenage boy in.

Her eyes opened and glinted with mischief. She shifted slightly, following the outline of his jaw with a single finger all the way to his lips. She traced his mouth with two fingers until Booth's lips parted in a vain attempt to draw breath and then her mouth was on his and all hope of breathing was gone as she delivered small, nibbling kisses, again just barely teasing him with a hint of tongue.

With a frustrated growl, Booth took her face in his hands and pressed a hard kiss on her, holding the back of her head in one large hand as she tried to squirm away playfully. She caved in quickly, sliding down slightly on his lap so that he had easier access to her mouth. She cradled the back of his head much as he had hers, urging him to deepen the kiss further still as his tongue did leisurely, heated strokes on the inside of her lower lip.

The problem with this scenario, Booth realized, was that every time she shifted even slightly her definitely _not _teenage curves pressed against him. He wasn't just acting nervous as he allowed his fingers to very slightly graze her right breast. He _was _nervous, dammit, after waiting five years for this! More nervous than his teenager alter-ego could ever have been, since he'd never gotten anywhere close to a woman this good-looking at age 16.

Brennan sighed into his mouth and reached between them to grab his hand. _And placed it on her breast_. Booth's brain sailed off into orbit, to somewhere the Enterprise probably never visited, given the show's family rating.

While their lips continued to spar for control, he traced the full curve of her breast through her thin shirt, following the line of her bra until it gave out on and there was only soft, supple skin. Again, Brennan intervened, placing her hand over his and directing the pressure she wanted. Light touches were apparently not part of her teenage fantasies.

He fondled her gently, enjoying Brennan's approving moan against his mouth almost as much as the feel of her cupped in his hand.

"Booth …" she exhaled his name longingly as he dropped his hand to her waist and tugged her closer still, breaking their kiss to explore the exposed line of skin just above her collarbone. He lingered at that tiny hollow he found so appealing, sucking lightly, not hard enough to leave a mark.

"Beautiful," he breathed, kissing his way up to her ear, which he'd discovered was ultra sensitive.

She gasped as he traced the outer shell with his tongue slowly, pausing to whisper sweet nothings that made her shiver equally.

She retaliated soon with her own exploration, playing with the sensitive hair at the back of his neck, scoring the skin of the underside of his jaw with her teeth.

"I thought you were vegetarian," Booth groaned, drawing an amused hum of satisfaction from the woman currently having dinner on his Adam's apple.

Brennan trailed her hands across the hard muscles of his chest, much as she'd done that day on the beach. Except this time Booth was allowed to kiss her, and kiss her he did, long and deep, as she played over the ridges of his abdomen through the T-shirt, deliberately torturing him.

"_Bones …"_

An enormous explosion on screen rocketed through the otherwise silent movie theater, causing Booth and Brennan both to jump in alarm, completely diffusing the heat that had been building rapidly between them.

Booth struggled upright and glared daggers at the screen. "What the hell?"

"I believe the protagonist of the film just attempted to defuse a bomb," Brennan commented, eyeing the absurd plot unfolding at the front of the theater. "Only it exploded." She glanced down slyly at her seething partner and dissolved into laughter as he yanked his hand back from her breast.

She caught his hand and replaced it, drawing a mild oath from Booth.

"What?"

"I guess I'm surprised I'm allowed to do this," he admitted sheepishly, glancing from the incriminating hand to his partner's swollen lips. "And you're pretty damn demanding for a shy teenager, Bones."

"If you need verbal permission," Brennan murmured seductively, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Consider it given."

The rest of the movie could have lasted an hour or three. Booth was never sure, but by the time they stumbled from the dark theater, the people who'd originally been in the room with them were long gone.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"That was a very enjoyable date." Brennan let them into her apartment. "Would you like to continue it on my couch?"

Booth swatted her playfully. "It's 3:00 in the morning, Bones. You need to go to bed."

"So do you," she argued. "We could accomplish two birds with one throw if you joined me."

"Kill two birds with one stone, Bones," he corrected, leaning against the door frame and shaking his head in amusement. "And there's no way I'm gettin' in that bed with you tonight. Much as I would like to, Week 6 is still a ways away."

Brennan let out a huff of annoyance, causing him to move away from the door and back her up against an adjoining wall.

"Kiss me good night, Bones," he coaxed enticingly. "Make me regret my rules, even if that doesn't mean I'm gonna break them."

She was doing exactly that when a random thought drifted through Booth's otherwise very occupied brain.

"Bones …" he pulled his lips away and glanced at the halfway shut door. "Let me just close the door so your cat doesn't escape. It would really spoil the mood to have to chase her up and down the hallway just now."

The blatant look of seduction faded from her face. "Josie's dead."

Booth frowned. "Wait, what?"

Brennan slipped from his embrace and began moving randomly around the living room, rearranging things that didn't need rearranging. Booth followed her, gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him.

"Your cat's dead?" he repeated, thinking back to the times he'd visited and hadn't seen the animal. "Since when?"

"Several weeks ago." She tried to twist away, but he held her firmly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Booth demanded.

Brennan attempted a halfhearted shrug and failed miserably. "It wasn't particularly important."

"She was your cat!" Booth exclaimed. "You loved her!"

"I only had her for a few weeks, Booth," she answered in her most aggravating scientist voice. "I was fond of her. Nothing more."

"Like hell. You got her because you wanted someone to come home to. Someone to keep you company. And now that someone is gone and you didn't even tell me."

"Why are you angry?" she asked in consternation.

"Because this is the kind of thing you need to tell me!" Booth shook her slightly. "Your cat died, Bones. Maybe you're not sad now, but I bet you were then. You were sad when that dog died. You should've told me so I could be here for you."

"Booth, you're making a big deal out of nothing," Brennan insisted, yanking away.

"Yeah?" Booth retorted. "So the fact that the first thing you did after saying her name was reach for the blanket the cat used to sleep on means nothing?"

Brennan looked in surprise at the red throw she was fingering absentmindedly.

"I love you, Bones," he told her, "But sometimes you drive me absolutely crazy, and not always in a good way. I'll stop by to pick you up for work tomorrow, since you don't have wheels yet. Good night."

He turned to go.

"Booth." Brennan caught up with him as he reached the door. "I didn't mean to imply a lack of trust by my actions. I simply didn't consider Josie's death anything important enough to be shared."

"Well, it was." The sad look on her face was more than he could take. Booth kicked the door shut and tugged off his tie before reaching for her and pulling her close. "What happened?" he said in her ear as he held her.

"She consumed several leaves of a potted plant I had in the house. I didn't realize it was toxic to cats."

He felt a slight shudder pass through her as he stroked her back rhythmically.

"I came home and she was dead."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, drawing back to kiss her very gently. "I know you probably beat yourself up about that honest mistake."

Brennan's eyes reddened. "I should have done more research."

"It was an accident," Booth said firmly. "Go change into whatever you wear at night, Bones. I'll wait for you in the bedroom."

"I thought you weren't staying," she said in surprise.

"I changed my mind," Booth muttered.

**o-o-o-o-o**

She slid into bed beside him, wearing comfortable old sweats that weren't nearly as pleasant on his bare chest as her bare skin would have been.

Booth drew the covers over them and waited for her to turn out the lights. Any trace of arousal was long gone. All he wanted to do at this point was hold her tightly and sleep. She apparently had the same idea. Snapping the light out, she turned towards him.

"Are you still angry at me?"

"No," he sighed tiredly, lying ever so slightly. "Good night, baby."

"Good night," she whispered, burying her head in his chest and blinking back tears that she was fairly certain weren't connected to Josie's passing.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: This chapter is somewhat of a nod to those reviewers who requested some bonafide casework. You see, if you review, I do listen to constructive suggestions! :)**

**As for whether the above is OOC … well, I'd like to believe Booth has hidden depths and another side to his personality, just like Brennan. ;)**


	43. Stress Fractures

**A/N: The story needed a Sweets' scene, however, I just really, really do NOT write Sweets well, nor do I find writing him even a remotely enjoyable experience. Luckily, Eternal Destiny 304 has Sweets' voice down to a science, so I enlisted her assistance. She is the author of this chapter's section on Sweets. To make sure she gets credit for what she wrote, the beginning and end of her section are delineated by ~B/B~, instead of the usual o-o-o-o-o-o. Any feedback for that section should be directed toward her, and I will ensure she receives it. I owe her a bucketload of thanks for taking time out from her own writing efforts to help mine. Once again, I recommend a visit to her wonderful fic **_**Ice Skating, **_**if it hasn't yet made your reading list.**

**Thanks also to the brilliant Skole, who continues to assist me in all matters squint-speak related. If you haven't already, mosey on over to her excellent story **_**The Progeny in the Parting**_**. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Sweetie!" _Angela swooped down on Brennan as the anthropologist arrived on the platform at 7:30 am. "Tell me that's what I think it is."

"A few specifics would be helpful before I answer that question," Brennan replied, raising an eyebrow. "Tell you what I think what is?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Dr. Brennan." Angela stabbed a finger at the very visible mark on Brennan's neck.

Somewhat self-consciously, Brennan touched the dark-colored mark just above her collarbone that Angela's eagle eyes had immediately spotted. "It's a superficial microcontusion to the subcutaneous and dermal tissues caused by the local application of negative pressure, resulting in the traumatic disruption of capillary membranes."

Angela shook her head in exasperation and dragged her best friend into her office.

"Call it whatever you like, but that is most definitely a hickey." Glee poured across the artist's face like the colors of a particularly vivid sunrise. "And if you don't spill the beans right now about how it happened, I'll follow you around all day and drive you crazy."

"It happened the usual way, Ange. I'm sure you don't require a full explanation of how the actual mark was produced." Brennan had to laugh seeing Angela's eyes narrow dangerously, indicating that she definitely _did _want all the details ASAP. "Okay, okay. Booth's date last night was very inventive."

Angela almost bounced in excitement. "Yeah?"

"He took me to see _MacGyver_. However, his intention was apparently never for us to actually watch the movie."

Angela squealed. "Buttoned-up Booth took you _necking?_"

"I now have a much better understanding of what the term means." Brennan ducked her head, blushing slightly. Generally, she had no qualms about expressing her sexuality honestly and aggressively, but with Booth things were … different.

"Booth has thus far exercised unusual restraint on all our dates, from some misguided notion he has about the importance of waiting. However, last night …" she trailed off meaningfully, gesturing at her neck with a grin.

"Is that the only one?" Angela demanded.

Brennan tugged the collar of her shirt away slightly, so Angela got a good glimpse of the other 'microcontusions.' "He said he wanted us to be teenagers for the evening."

The memory of his hot mouth sucking on her sensitized skin was pleasurable to the extreme. She found herself wishing he was nearby so they could repeat that stage of the experiment.

Angela sank into a chair, fanning herself heatedly. "Sweetie, the man is sex on legs. Don't let him get away."

Her words triggered another, altogether different memory. As always, Angela picked up on her mood change instantly.

"What?" she asked in alarm. "Did something happen at the end of the date?"

Brennan sat down beside her friend and struggled through an explanation of Josie's death—something she hadn't mentioned even to Angela.

"You have to tell him these things, Bren," Ange said softly, after listening to the whole story.

"I didn't intentionally _not _tell him."

"I know it doesn't come naturally, but if you're sad you need to tell him, Brennan. Even if you don't think it's a big deal. It's part of being in a relationship."

Seeing the sad, confused look on Brennan's face, Angela patted her knee. She knew all too well how her friend's mind worked. 'Teenage' might be a very good way to describe Brennan's emotional frailty when it came to meaningful relationships.

"He'll get over it. The man is crazy about you, Bren. Something little like this is _not _going to ruin things, so stop worrying." Angela stood, planting her hands on her hips and grinning. "Now, break out the makeup, so I can help you cover that hickey before the other squints get a glimpse of it and you have to run the morning after gauntlet."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

His phone rang as he was plowing his way through paperwork for a weapon he'd discharged several days ago in pursuit of an alleged bank robber.

"Booth."

"_Are you free for lunch?"_

"Hi, Bones." A goofy grin spread across his face and he did nothing to stop it. Hearing her voice, with the slightest little nervous hitch on the end of it to indicate that things had definitely changed between them permanently, made him flat out happy.

"_Hello, Booth. Are you free for lunch?"_

This was unusual. He was usually the one to drag her away from the office in the middle of the day. Booth propped his feet on the lip of the desk, idly toying with a race car Parker had left in his office on a recent visit, while he waited for her to elaborate.

"_Angela has made a positive identification on three of the victims from President's Park and I assumed you would want to discuss the details."_

"You wanna have lunch, Bones, or talk shop?" he inquired, feeling slightly let down.

There was a long pause on her end of the line.

"_I want to have lunch."_

His gut did a slow somersault. This was promising. "Your place or mine, Bones?"

"Yours." Brennan appeared in his office door, holding several plastic bags and smiling nervously. Clearly, she wasn't sure how he'd respond to her out of character gesture.

Booth was on his feet and moving to close the door to his office almost before Brennan was fully across the threshold. He pulled her inside, locked the door behind them and dropped his head to kiss her passionately, reassuring her in the best way he knew how that he was very, very happy.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was unaccustomed to performing what society referred to as 'romantic gestures,' but her decision to leave the Jeffersonian for a couple of hours and procure lunch for her partner was turning out to be an excellent choice.

Booth sprawled beside her on the floor of his office, where they'd laid out her version of a picnic, complete with vegetarian entrée for her, diner burger for him and a large plate of fries for both of them. He'd loosened his tie and tossed his coat aside, something she rarely saw him do while in the FBI building.

He reached for another fry and gave her a slow, wide grin that made her heart flutter improbably. "This was a seriously good idea, Bones. Now I know why they call you a genius."

"I _am _a genius," she reminded him, sliding the remaining plastic bag over. "There's apple pie for your dessert."

"What if I say I want you for dessert?"

"The pie will get cold," she warned, her protest fading instantly as he shoved the plates aside and went for her with the same kind of hunger he'd devoured the burger with, his large body pressing her into the carpet as he kissed her, tongue thrusting deeply along hers in an approximate imitation of what was awaiting them in Week 6.

Brennan gasped with pleasure as he slid an arm under her hips, pressing her up towards him while with the other he supported the back of her neck. She dragged her nails across his well-developed deltoids, enjoying the feel of them flexing in order to hold her more closely. "Booth ... I like this."

He raised his head from the neck where he'd been assiduously destroying Angela's makeup job, and looked at her questioningly. "What do you like, Bones?"

"You. Almost on top of me."

His eyes darkened until they were almost black. "I'd fix the _almost_, baby, but …"

"Week 6, I know." She caressed the lower muscles of his spine, following his rules and remaining above the waist, but just barely. He was solid muscle from head to toe, and everything in between. The sensation of him poised above her, hovering almost predatorily, was overtly erotic.

Brennan traced his rigid abdomen, following the defined lines upward into his pectoral musculature. She played with the buttons on his shirt absentmindedly. "You're very hard, Booth." The minute she said the words, she knew what he'd interpret them as meaning, even though her intent had actually been innocent for a change.

"Jesus, Bones_._" Booth groaned, rolling them over so she was now completely on top of him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and drew her head down until it rested right above his. "What are you trying to _do_ to me?"

"I meant your muscles," she protested. "You have extraordinary definition. It's very pleasant to feel against my skin, although I would admittedly prefer less clothing between us. It inhibits the sensation."

"I'll show you uninhibited, naked sensation one of these days," Booth promised darkly, sliding her along his torso so her neck was directly in line with his mouth. "You said Angela noticed these?" He brushed his lips across the most visible hickey, cupping her breasts gently in the process.

Brennan shivered at his tender touch. "She has excellent observational skills."

"Then I'll just have to make sure the next few aren't in such plain sight." In case his meaning wasn't clear, he tugged her collar back, fastening his mouth to the hidden skin beneath the fabric.

~B/B~

"Ok, guys, it's been a long time since we've met here so I think it's important that we go through some exercises designed to reacquaint us with each other." Sweets leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked back and forth between the two partners. "Sound good?"

Booth glanced at Brennan. "Uh, what?" He raised his eyebrows derisively. "I think we all know each other pretty well, Sweets. That's Bones, she's a genius anthropologist." He grinned at her. "A sexy, genius anthropologist."

Brennan flicked her eyes to his and they shared a brief, private moment of remembrance before Booth cleared his throat and moved on, looking back at Sweets.

"I'm Booth, Seeley Booth, best investigator around. And you're our twelve year old psychologist. I think we're pretty clear on all that, Sweets, so let's just move on, shall we?" Booth sent the younger man a cocky grin and flipped his poker chip in the air.

"Fine, Agent Booth, since you're so eager to move past the preliminaries, we'll just cut to the chase." Sweets' tone was somewhat clipped. "What impact has your new sexual relationship with Agent Booth had on your partnership, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets directed his attention to the surprised woman across from him.

"Excuse me?" She fumbled for a moment, glancing at Booth.

"Hey, hey, hey," Booth sat forward, waving his hand at Sweets. "Don't just throw questions like that at her. Talk to me. Over here." Booth frowned, draping his arm over the back of the couch and resting his hand on Brennan's shoulder. "And that's no way to talk to a woman, by the way. You should know that."

"Booth, I can speak for myself." Brennan whispered.

"It was a valid question, given the situation." Sweets defended himself, sitting back and drumming his pen on the pad of paper he was holding. "I know you two have been dating, so don't even try to fake me out. It's all anyone talks about anymore around here. Hodgins even came to see me because he wanted me to tell Angela that it was unfair for her to compare his romantic gestures to yours, Booth." Sweets shook his head, shaking his pen at both of his patients. "So don't tell me there's not something going on here."

Brennan glanced at Booth before she spoke. "Booth and I are not involved in a sexual relationship."

"Please, Dr. Brennan, do you really expect me to believe…"

"Are you calling my partner a liar?" Booth's voice was low as he challenged the doctor.

"Yes! Well, no. I mean I'm not saying she's… actually, you know what? Yes, I am saying she's lying." He tightened his lips and glared defiantly at Brennan. "You're totally lying if you say you're not in a relationship with Agent Booth. Totally lying."

Brennan nodded. "That is a correct conclusion. It would be a lie for me to say that I am not in a relationship with Booth."

Booth grinned. "But that's not what she said, is it Sweets?"

Sweets spluttered. "But…"

Booth and Brennan exchanged looks.

"Should we let him off the hook, Bones?" Booth raised his eyebrows at her.

"I think that would be best."

"You sure?" She couldn't help but feel like he was asking her about more than just Sweets and it occurred to her that this was another opportunity to make up for not trusting him with her cat's death.

She nodded, holding his gaze. "I'd like to tell him, Booth." When he gave his silent assent, she turned back to Sweets. "Booth and I are conducting an experiment to determine whether or not we would like to form a more permanent romantic attachment. We are on the fourth week of the experiment and it has been exceptionally successful so far. Booth and I are very compatible outside the workplace."

Sweets blinked at her. "That's nuts." He decided.

Brennan glanced at Booth. "Was that a positive response?" She asked him quietly.

"He's processing, Bones." Booth watched the psychologist. "The positive response is coming any second now, isn't it, Sweets?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I mean I already knew you guys were dating… but you just said it out loud and even better you think you're compatible." Sweets grinned. "Guys, this is great. This is a real breakthrough for both of you."

Brennan smiled at Booth with just a touch of wicked sensuality. "Yes, it has been very educational."

Booth tightened his grip on her shoulder and inched closer to her on the couch. "It's only going to get better, baby." He promised, his voice low.

Sweets heard him and practically squirmed himself off the couch in his excitement. "You two are finally opening up to each other, sharing your feelings, communicating honestly. Do you even realize the awesome potential this has for your partnership?"

"We get it, Sweets. You're excited." Booth rolled his eyes but still grinned because no one was more excited than he was. He gave in to the impulse to move closer to her and pull her in, placing a kiss in her hair.

Sweets looked on, taking in the angling of their bodies as they reacted to each others' movements, Brennan's soft smile as she felt Booth's lips on her, the unadulterated emotion radiating in Booth's eyes as he looked at her. Even though he'd always firmly believed the two were on unstoppable tracks destined to collide, he couldn't help but feel at least a little responsible for their union. Just a little.

"So how is the new sexual component affecting your partnership?" Sweets asked, attempting to get the conversation back on track.

Brennan looked at him in surprise. "Do you not listen?" She looked at Booth. "Does he not listen?"

"Not that well." Booth replied. "Sweets, Bones and I are not having sex. Not yet."

Sweets frowned. "So you're dating, but not sleeping together."

"Yes, Booth insists upon waiting for week six of the experiment to engage in intercourse." Brennan's voice contained a distinctive wistfulness that sent shivers of pleasure running through Booth. "He believes our relationship should progress in stages."

"Stages like what?"

Brennan looked at Booth as she spoke. "We've gone on a number of elaborate dates designed to be both romantic and instructive."

"Instructive?" Booth asked, holding her gaze.

Brennan shrugged. "Well, yes. For instance, the first date you took me on was our sky diving dating. You were teaching me to let go and to trust you."

Booth smiled at her. "I think it's working…"

Sweets cleared his throat as the two drifted towards each other. "Those types of exercises are excellent for your relationship. In fact, sky diving is just a more dramatic form of what I try to get you to do in here each week when we do our trust exercises."

Booth groaned. "Great, Sweets, you've just tainted one of my favorite memories with your therapy gimmicks."

"They are not gimmicks." Sweets argued. "They're proven techniques developed by the best scholars in the field."

"It's putting your hands together and leaning towards each other." Booth smirked. "Not that impressive, Sweets."

Sweets glared at the agent before turning his attention back to Brennan. "And how did engaging in this trust exercise with Agent Booth differ from your previous experience with sky diving? Did you find the experience to be heightened by his presence?"

Brennan started to answer, but Booth cut her off quickly.

"Wait, what previous experience with sky diving?" He demanded, looking between his partner and his psychologist. "I don't know about any previous experience."

Brennan shrugged easily. "I went sky diving once when I was in college. It was during Spring Break and my roommate at the time was quite persistent in her insistence that I do more than simply study. I was telling Sweets about it a few weeks ago while we were waiting for you to arrive in the interrogation room."

Booth gaped at her. "You've been sky diving before?"

"Agent Booth, you seem to be upset…" Sweets said calmly.

"Yeah, I'm upset." Booth kept his darkening eyes on Brennan. "You just went along with me, never mentioning you'd already jumped out of a plane before. Geez, Bones, I thought we were taking this big step together, facing our fears together and it was just another night on Spring Break for you."

Brennan seemed unsure of how to react to his sudden burst of anger. "Booth, I don't understand why you're upset. You never asked if I had been sky diving before. I didn't think it was pertinent."

"It was pertinent, Bones, when we were falling together, swinging with our arms around each other. It was pertinent when we were making one of earliest memories as a couple. Not to mention, that it's just one more thing about your life that I don't know about."

"Booth…"

"No, Bones. You don't tell me when you're going to go wandering around a dangerous neighborhood, you don't tell me when you're going to disappear from my apartment injuries and all, you don't tell me when your cat dies. Now I find out that you passed up – what, a billion – opportunities to tell me that you've gone sky diving before. I think it's pretty obvious what's going on here."

"Agent Booth, you should calm yourself back down and find another way to express your feelings of resentment to Dr. Brennan." Sweets suggested.

"Shut up, Sweets." Booth snapped at the young doctor. "Come on, Bones, just be honest with me. I'm important enough to you that you'll make out with me in the back of a movie theater, but when it comes to actually sharing your life, you can't do it. Or won't do it."

Brennan recoiled as though he had struck her. "Booth, I share my life with you. I tell you everything!"

Booth stared at her in disbelief. "Yeah, Bones? Then how come this keeps happening? Why didn't you just tell me you'd been sky diving before? Would that really have been so hard?"

"I'd never been night sky diving before." Brennan stated as though it was the most logical defense in the world. "The two instances weren't the same. There was no need to bring it up."

"Seriously, Bones? That's your answer? Some unimportant technicality?"

"I think that it would be best if we took a moment of silence to collect our thoughts…" Sweets interjected as both partners ignored him.

"Booth, you're overreacting." Brennan moved to lay her hand on his arm but he avoided her touch. "I do want to share with you…"

Booth stood abruptly. "No, Bones, if you want to do something, you find a way to do it. You make it a priority. You don't make someone drag it out of you."

"Agent Booth, our session is not over." Sweets protested as Booth headed for the door.

"It is now." Booth muttered. "I'm done talking about this."

Brennan stood too. "Booth, please…" She said uselessly as the office door closed behind her partner. Livid, she whirled on Sweets. "This is your fault!"

"Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry. I didn't know… I had no idea that he would…" Sweets stuttered. "That was majorly intense."

"I need to talk to him." Brennan began moving towards the door.

"Maybe he needs some space." Sweets suggested lamely, guilt all over his babyish features. "He seemed pretty upset."

~B/B~

The 24 Hour Fitness Center on Harvard Street didn't know what hit it as Booth stormed in and cornered the floor manager tasked with ensuring his clients didn't injure themselves unintentionally. _Un_intentionally was key here—Booth had every intention of injuring himself deliberately this evening, in his quest to drive the memory of Brennan's shocked face from the very cells and muscle fibers of his body. And he didn't want anyone stopping him.

The floor manager wasn't a small guy, but he was dwarfed by the FBI Agent's fury.

"I'm going to do sets of extremely high reps with heavy weights. If you hear screaming, don't spot me. If you see me rack the weight and drop to the floor without moving, don't call an ambulance. If you see me puking or bleeding, walk away. I'll sign whatever the hell papers you want in order to keep your ass safe legally, but I _do not _want anybody interrupting me. If they do, I will personally find a way to make your life a living hell. Is that clear?"

Personal trainers who considered themselves more than adequately fit, and were rarely intimidated by anyone under 300 lbs, hovered at the fringes of the weight room buzzing as they watched the man hell-bent on killing himself.

It wasn't until his leaden pecs, lats and delts would absolutely not do another bench press, chest fly, pull up or pulldown, his calves, quads and hamstrings could not tolerate another squat or deadlift, and his abs threatened to disintegrate under the force of yet another weighted incline crunch that Booth finally quit.

Of course, the gym had to be on the bottom floor of the only structure in DC without an elevator. He dragged himself up the stairs under the watchful eye of a gym owner who was still concerned about being sued should Booth choose to suddenly drop dead inside the building.

"Whoever she is, she ain't worth it," the floor manager advised, shaking his head at the sweat pouring from every pore in Booth's body. He forced a Gatorade into the agent's hand and made him take a seat. "You can't drive until you rest a few minutes."

"You're wrong." Booth rested his elbows on his knees, his mercilessly overworked muscles trembling visibly. Brennan's face floated in front of him, more painful than anything he'd put himself through that evening.

"She's worth everything and more. I'm the one who fucked up royally."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth drove home at a snail's pace, unwilling to face the prospect of an empty apartment, an empty bed, an empty life, now that he'd definitively scared Brennan permanently back to Guatemala or some other place. As he maneuvered the SUV towards his place, an old song came on the radio, one that made him laugh in bitter incredulity. Sometimes God had a really sick sense of humor.

_I don't want you to give it all up  
and leave your own life collecting dust.  
And I don't want you to feel sorry for me,  
you never gave us a chance to be._

_And I don't need you to be by my side  
to tell me that everything's all right.  
Just wanted you to tell me the truth,  
you know I'd do that for you._

_So why are you running away?  
Why are you running away?_

He pulled into the parking lot and staggered into his complex, the lyrics still burrowing through his brain like one of Hodgins' beloved maggots.

… _and when I get close, you turn away.  
There's nothing that I can do or say.  
Now I need you to tell me the truth,  
you know I'd do that for you.  
So why are you running away?  
Why are you running away?  
_

Determined to torture himself into a stupor where he could no longer see her blue eyes widening and the color draining from her face, Booth took the stairs. By the time he staggered onto the 8th floor, the burning pain in his chest had reached a new high.

He lurched down the hallway, coming to a swaying, disbelieving halt as he turned the corner and immediately spotted Brennan sitting on his doorstep, knees drawn to her chest, head tilted back slightly in apparent sleep. He reached for a wall to steady himself, not entirely certain he hadn't worked himself into another coma where he was, once again, hallucinating.

"Bones …"

Her eyes flashed open and locked on him immediately, but she didn't move from her spot.

"Bones," Booth repeated helplessly, fumbling for an adequate apology. Sure, he was still angry. She'd hurt him accidentally, but he'd hurt her more and he knew it. Worse yet, the pain he inflicted had been deliberate. Just for that moment he'd wanted her to feel what he felt, to know what it was like to always be on the receiving end of grief. As if she hadn't felt enough grief in her life already.

"I'm trying." Brennan's words were softly spoken. "You may not believe it, Booth, but I _am _trying."

"I know you are." The very fact that she was on his doorstep, standing her ground and trying to fix things in her own clumsy way was testament enough to the growth she'd made not only over the last six years, but over the last six weeks. "I shouldn't have blown up the way I did."

"My college experience with sky diving was in the daytime. It wasn't tandem."

"I know."

"No, you don't." She climbed to her feet. "It was a completely different experience, Booth. I was all alone. My roommate convinced me to do it, but she didn't go with me in the end. After all the hours of training, I went ahead and jumped, but nobody was there to catch me."

"I'm sorry, Bones." So many people had abandoned her, time after time. Was it any wonder she was skittish?

"Perhaps I should have told you, but it honestly never occurred to me. Our tandem jump was unique. To compare that date to my negative experience during Spring Break would taint what was, for me, an extraordinary moment." Her voice rose as it often did when she was trying to communicate something for which she lacked the appropriate emotional vocabulary. "Booth, I've never felt anything like that. Ever."

"I haven't either." He moved toward her like a man at sea seeking his anchor, fearful it would yet again drift away on an unseen current. Brennan met him halfway and they clung to each other frantically, neither one able or willing to verbalize how frightened they were at the cracks that seemed to be appearing in their relationship.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: I don't own **_**Bones**_**, or the song lyrics to **_**Running Away **_**by Hoobastank. Thanks to those readers who continue to provide specific feedback about what they do and don't like about the story. Reading what makes you laugh or cry, or even what makes you mad about my writing, makes **_**me **_**very happy. =) We're closing in on Week 6, believe it or not …**


	44. Fugitive

**A/N: *happy dance* Thank you all so much for the copious, wonderful, specific reviews for 43. You made my day, my week, my year. It's amazing how inspired I am to write when I know people are reading! As such, I present a nice long chapter for your enjoyment. =) Many thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for the beta and constant encouragement.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"All four victims have now been positively identified." Brennan slid the children's pictures across the desk and over to Booth one at a time. "Maria Rose Sanchez, age 9; Jessica Capshaw, age 8; Maureen Lanette Kennedy, age 10 and Sebastian Fitzgerald, age 9."

Booth stared down at the photographs, his mind automatically transposing Parker's own toothy grin onto each of the smiling young faces. The thought of having to tell four different sets of grieving parents that their children were dead made him physically ill.

"How'd they die?"

"My original assessment was correct. Each of the victims' skulls were severely pitted, indicating blunt force trauma."

He sat back against the couch and crossed his arms. "Meaning somebody smashed their heads in, right?"

"In laymen's terms, yes, a direct blow to the occipital lobe resulted in each of the victims' deaths. Perhaps even more pertinent to the case are the remodeled fractures found in each victim. Maria sustained long bone fractures with subdural hematomas. Jessica's femurs showed evidence of torsional fractures, while Maureen and Sebastian's lowering extremes had scarring from simultaneous burns."

Booth had been working with Brennan long enough to be able to decode certain words, leading him to an extremely unpleasant conclusion. "You're saying each of these kids was abused."

"Badly."

His sympathy for the parents evaporated. "Have you found a connection among the children?"

"Each victim was in the foster care system in a different state. Hodgins' examination of the particulates on the individual remains indicates that the murders were committed in four different places, outside of DC."

"So we have to track down multiple sets of foster parents and interrogate them." Booth sat up, pleased that he at least had something to follow up on. "Good work, Bones. You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Foster care cases tend to really hit home with you."

Her mouth opened to tell him she was fine—he could read it in her eyes, if not her lips—then closed again, while she apparently reconsidered.

"Though I am capable of compartmentalizing my own experiences from situations encountered at work, I will admit to some level of innate, perhaps unprofessional, personal distress when confronting such cases."

A small bubble of happiness formed in Booth's chest. "There's nothing unprofessional about being human, Bones. You don't let your emotions interfere with your work, and feeling sad because what happened to you is still happening to so many other helpless kids is completely normal." Booth reached over and took her hand, feeling the bubble grow exponentially when Brennan didn't shy away. "Thanks for being honest with me."

She nodded a little stiffly, and he knew it was time to give her some space to deal with the emotions his question—and the case—had stirred up.

"Tomorrow's Saturday and we haven't been on many dates for the fourth week of our experiment. Rebecca's got Parker this weekend … are you free at all Saturday or Sunday?"

"I still have a lot of work to catch up on from the three days I was absent. I haven't made any progress on the Revolutionary War victim, and I would like to more accurately determine what weapon was used to kill the four children."

"So, that's a no for the weekend." Booth stood up, trying not to feel too disappointed. "Okay. How about Monday evening instead?"

"No." Brennan got up from her chair. "I would like to spend Saturday with you, Booth, if that's convenient. Then on Sunday I can come in to the museum."

Holy hell. The woman was actually compromising. And Booth hadn't even had to pull any teeth, for a change!

"There is, however, one condition to my agreeing to spend Saturday with you," she added before he could say anything.

Booth was instantly suspicious. "And that would be …"

"I'll be taking paperwork home tonight and Josie is no longer around." She paused for a long moment before continuing. "I had grown accustomed to having her in the apartment. When you finish your own work day, will you drive by my place and pretend you see the lights on from the street?"

It was all Booth could do to stop his jaw from dropping.

"I can do that." He lowered his voice. "I'd kiss you for asking that, Bones, but there are people on the platform …"

"That's something we need to discuss, Booth. What about the FBI regulations regarding sexual relationships between partners? Is this experiment jeopardizing our work together?"

He'd been expecting that question from Day 1.

"Bones, the top brass at the FBI figures we've been sleeping together for the last four years, at least," Booth told her frankly. "It obviously hasn't affected our success rate, and they're not about to mess with a good thing. As long as we're discreet around Hacker and Cullen, they aren't going to give us any grief."

"In that case, why does it matter if people on the platform see us kissing?"

"It doesn't," Booth stammered, taken aback, "I mean, I just thought … it's your workspace, Bones, and you've kind of drawn that boundary—"

"So long as it's in my office and during my personal time, I have no objections. I realize that within the FBI building we need to proceed as always. However, there is no such impediment to a physical relationship here, other than your personal views about public displays of affection." She said the last bit with a note of taunting sarcasm.

Oh, he'd show her …

"Is this still considered your personal time?" Booth asked casually, shrugging off his coat as he asked the question.

Brennan glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have 17 minutes left of my lunch break."

He caught her arm and tumbled her, unsuspecting, onto the couch, twisting his own body as he followed her down and pinned her beneath him.

"Booth!" she exclaimed breathlessly, bracing her hands against his chest as his head lowered meaningfully toward hers. "The door—"

Then his mouth was on hers, demanding; his hands were fisted in her hair; her legs acted of their own volition and wrapped themselves around Booth's lean hips; her fingers dug into the firm muscles of his back, and the heat of their mutual arousal drove any further thoughts of propriety from both their brains.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The first thing he saw on Saturday morning when he opened his eyes were her eyes, smiling into his. She was lying on her side, auburn hair mussed on the pillow, watching him.

"Good morning." Her voice was husky with sleep.

Booth rolled halfway on top of her, bracing himself on one elbow and reaching out to cup her cheek in one large hand.

"_Great _morning, you mean," he corrected, skimming the contours of her lips with a fingertip. "You're never still in bed when I wake up. I like this."

"My circadian rhythms generally dictate my morning routine." Her eyes fixated on his jaw, her thumb rubbing back and forth across the stubble. "I prefer to start my day early. But I also like this."

He pressed a kiss to her palm. "How long have you been awake?"

"Around forty five minutes."

"And what have you been doing all that time?" he teased, hoping she'd play along.

She idly trailed her fingertips across his collarbone before answering. "I was watching you sleep."

It was an unusually tender statement, leading to a rise in emotions within Booth that were far too powerful for so early in the morning. Brennan took care of that problem with her next casual comment.

"I was also considering removing my clothing and providing you with blatant temptation on awakening, in hopes of breaking your resolution to wait until Week 6."

Booth poked her in the ribs, eliciting an outraged squeal, followed by immediate retaliation from her own nimble fingers in the region of his abs. They tumbled over and over in the bed, laughing and tickling each other until Brennan finally came to rest above him, still laughing. She looked even more beautiful than usual, her features relaxed and happy, her hair tumbling down to form a private curtain around their faces.

He slid a hand into the long tangles of hair cascading all around him and pulled her down for a lingering kiss before Brennan climbed off him and got out of bed.

"You are invited to shower with me," she said over her shoulder, walking toward the bathroom with a deliberately pronounced sashay to her hips. No woman wearing pajama pants emblazoned with cartoon pigs should be able to look so sexy.

Booth threw a pillow at her, barely missing her cute little backside. He used the pillow left on the bed to muffle a groan of desire as she stepped into the bathroom and turned to cast a heated come-hither look at him before closing the door behind her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Where are we going? Are we almost there?" Brennan asked for the third time in two hours.

Booth was tempted to ask whether she was hungry, bored and had to pee, but decided that line of inquiry would only confuse a non-parent.

"It's not far now," he reassured her, turning off the highway at the "Welcome to Virginia" exit sign.

"I'm hungry," she complained, lending credence to Booth's earlier thoughts. "Why wouldn't you let me eat breakfast?"

"Because we'll be eating breakfast when we get where we're going."

He hid a smile as she continued to grumble in her own uniquely Brennan way.

Thirty minutes later, he turned off the main road onto a dirt track surrounded by acres of green hills and wildflower meadows and a large, bullet-pointed sign that effectively gave away the surprise he'd hoped to keep a secret for a few more minutes.

**BUTLER'S APPLE ORCHARD**

_**Pick your own, buy a bushel, bring the family!**_

**In colonial times apples were called winter banana or melt-in-the-mouth.**

**2500 varieties of apples are grown in 36 states. Most are still picked by hand in the fall.**

**Apple varieties range in size from a little larger than a cherry to as large as a grapefruit.**

**25 percent of an apple's volume is air, which is why they float.**

**It takes about 36 apples to create one gallon of apple cider.**

**Apples are a member of the rose family.**

Brennan turned to him. "We're going apple picking?"

"That's part of the plan for the day." He pulled the SUV into a small improvised parking lot that was surprisingly full for 10:30 am.

"You have very creative ideas for dates," she commented as they got out of the car and slathered on sunscreen.

"Is that a good or a bad thing according to the fabled Brennan brain?" he asked mildly, handing her the same sunhat she'd worn on their island outing.

"It's a _great _thing," she corrected, referencing his words from that morning. "I like it."

She held out her hand and he took it, enveloping her fingers beneath his as they walked toward the orchard trees in the distance. Other than the howls of cranky children as they were awakened and unbuckled from car seats, the morning was quiet with the sounds of birds and busily working bees. Lazy clouds drifted overhead in an otherwise flawless blue sky.

A small red stand greeted them a few yards down the road.

"Breakfast," Booth announced, pointing at the homemade menu posted to the metal frame.

The little old lady behind the counter was stereotypically round, red-cheeked and beaming as she bustled around assembling their order. She looked like she could have been lifted from the pages of a Mother Goose nursery rhyme, complete with a cooing grandchild in the background to distract her occasionally.

"Is this your young lady?" she asked, peering at them from behind huge granny glasses.

"Yes," Booth said firmly, taking a tighter hold of Brennan's hand. "She is."

"Such a nice thing for a young couple to do together on a beautiful Saturday." The woman dished up fresh oatmeal for Brennan, doused it liberally with milk and cream before covering it with crisp apple slices.

"Just picked this morning," she smiled, handing the bowl over.

A few minutes later she plated a steaming apple turnover, hot from the oven, alongside a scoop of homemade applesauce dusted with cinnamon and passed it along Booth, who was just about salivating.

He reached for his wallet and she waved him away. "On the house."

Brennan frowned. "That's not financially prudent. If you give free meals away to all your customers, how will you recoup your initial investment?"

"_Bones," _Booth hissed. "_What, you're a banking guru now?"_

"I don't give free meals away to all my customers," the woman replied cheerfully. "Just to ones who are so obviously in love. Lenny died last year, but I like to believe he's watching from heaven and enjoys seeing visiting couples who are in love as we once were when we founded this business."

She poured two cups of apple cider and gave them to Booth and Brennan, who were standing awkwardly, uncertain of how to proceed.

"Just because one of you may not know it yet, doesn't mean I'm not right," the grandmother said gently, turning her attention to the next person in line.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

With the property owner's permission they settled in a nearby meadow, reclining on the slightly dew-damp acres of grass.

"This," Booth announced ecstatically with a full mouth, "This is …" he waved his fork, "_Definitely _the best pie on the planet. Want a bite?"

Brennan made a face and pushed his laden fork away. "Pie for breakfast is not appealing. My oatmeal is excellent. Would you like to try some?"

"Sure."

She held out the spoon. Booth bypassed it and palmed the back of her head so he could kiss her instead. Her mouth melted willingly under his and he slid forward to explore her mouth leisurely, tasting tart apple and spicy cinnamon mingled with a sweet taste that was 100% Brennan. The explosion of flavors under his lips made him giddy.

"Yep, you're right. Excellent oatmeal."

"Your pie is overly sweet, as I suspected," Brennan retorted, but her dislike of his favorite dessert didn't stop her. She shoved him flat onto the grass and leaned in to take over the kiss, doing her own in-depth exploration as he ran his hands up and down her back.

"Bones …"

She pulled back questioningly and Booth caught his breath, awed at how beautiful she continued to be—would always be in his eyes—no matter what setting. The picturesque landscape around them was only an added bonus to the copper sheen of her hair and the blue glint in her eyes.

He plucked a small red flower from her temple and offered it to her, smiling. "Souvenir of our date?"

Brennan took it from him, examining the specimen carefully. "I have nowhere to put it."

"Back in your hair works for me," Booth said softly, taking the flower back and rearranging it behind her ear. "You are so beautiful, Bones Brennan, inside and out. The breakfast woman was right. I'm completely in love with you."

He turned them swiftly so he was above, and kissed her hard.

.** o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Apples ripen from the outside of the tree they're growing on towards the center." Booth pointed toward the large, juicy fruits hanging directly above them as they walked under the natural canopy created by the orchard's arrangement of apple trees. "Don't pull on the apple. Kind of roll it upward and give it a small twist." He demonstrated, picking a beautiful dark pink fruit for her.

"How do you know so much about apples?" she asked, placing his apple in her plastic bucket. "I wasn't aware botany was one of your interests."

"Pops really enjoyed it." Booth began to methodically remove fruit from the nearest branch. "He took me and Jarred a bunch of times when we were kids. Of course, we thought it was completely lame, teenagers spending the day out with Granddad apple picking."

Brennan paused in her own apple picking. He so rarely said anything about his childhood.

"I never knew my grandparents," she said, unsure of how else to initiate the conversation. "They died long before I was born."

"Yeah, well, you know Pops raised me." Booth worked his way around to the next branch.

She wasn't good at subtlety. "Will you tell me about your childhood one day?"

He looked over and Brennan was suddenly, unusually, worried that she'd seriously overstepped personal boundaries.

"I didn't mean to be intrusive."

"You weren't." He went back to picking. "There's not much to tell, but if you ask me, I'll answer any question."

"Can I eat this apple straight from the tree?"

He laughed. "Not the question I was expecting. I'd wait until you've washed it off, but I guess a small dose of pesticides and dirt never hurt anybody."

"I would dispute that final statement, but will take a calculated risk anyway." She rubbed the apple on her shirt sleeve and crunched into the fruit.

"This fruit is excellent. You want a bite?"

"Of you or of the apple?"

"You can have both," Brennan replied invitingly.

"I'll take my anthropologist with a little less chemical aftertaste, thanks," he chuckled.

They picked apples in companionable silence until Brennan spoke again.

"What was your mother's name?"

"Laura."

"What was she like?"

He glanced down at the growing pile of apples they'd picked. "I'm not avoiding your question—just wondering, how many apples do we want? 10 lbs is $15 dollars."

Brennan followed his gaze. They'd picked at least 40 of varying sizes, more than enough to give several to each member of the Braintrust and have ample leftovers.

"I think we have enough."

"Why don't we go leave them at that little station where they hold purchases for visitors who are still wandering around the property? Then we can go sit somewhere and I'll tell you about Mom."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

An old apple tree which was no longer bearing fruit, located toward the back of the property, was an inviting, shady place to talk. They sat down on the soft earth beneath the tree, careful not to jar their fresh cups of coffee.

"Mom was somethin' else," Booth said quietly. "She was always happy, no matter what was going on. Dad would come home drunk and crazy, slap her around, say all kinds of shit, and she'd somehow manage to still keep smiling. The only time she lost it was when Dad would come after us. You think I'm protective—guess where that was inherited. She went after him with a shovel once, after he gave me a bloody nose."

She rested her head on his shoulder, offering wordless support as he revisited old memories.

"She was really smart. She always said she was going to go back to school one day, get a degree in something. There just wasn't much chance for her to go to college. Dad kept her busy enough, and then she had to look after us kids. She loved music. Didn't matter if she was washing dishes, doing laundry, cleaning up after dinner, she was always singing. That's how she composed her jingles, singing. It's what I remember most about the days after she died. How quiet the house was."

Brennan took a sip of coffee. "She passed her love of music down to you."

"Yeah. That's something else she gave me, besides keeping a roof over our heads, feeding us, driving us to school, trying to make a nice home for our friends to visit. That and keeping Dad constantly at bay."

It was an inane question, but she felt the urge to ask it anyway. "Do you miss her?"

"Sure. But I know she's watching me, and I can go talk to her if I need help with something."

"I've attempted to visit my mother's grave and talk to her, as you suggested."

Booth looked over at her in surprise. "Good for you, Bones. How'd it go?"

"She hasn't answered yet," Brennan replied wryly.

"She will." He kissed her temple. "Give it time."

"So your mother speaks to you?" Brennan asked hesitantly, not intending to mock his beliefs, but simply not understanding how anyone could derive comfort from speaking to thin air.

"She's the one who told me to risk this experiment with you."

"I don't understand."

"Remember when you made the request originally and I walked out of the office?"

She nodded.

"I went to talk to Mom. It was like I kind of felt her tell me to take a chance on things."

Brennan sighed. "I still don't understand."

"Just keep trying, Bones. You'll hear her voice eventually."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Sorry the hayride wasn't romantic," Booth apologized as they drove up to Brennan's apartment late that evening, having spent the day after apple picking just generally enjoying time away from the city. Booth's final plan for the evening, however, had bombed big time.

The advertised hayrides that had drawn him to the orchard's website in the first place had turned out to be communal property—everybody in at the same time, no specials for couples hoping for a little privacy. With the big harvest moon overhead and a gentle breeze riffling through the leaves of the surrounding trees, Booth had made multiple attempts to kiss Brennan, but an eagle-eyed kid would invariably _ewwww _or screech, or just generally interpose him or herself in such a manner that a little innocent making out just never managed to happen.

"I hadn't anticipated so many kids screaming."

Brennan chuckled. "It was a nice date, Booth. Even if the hayride didn't go as planned, you had plenty of other opportunities today to kiss me."

Up against a tree, under a tree, behind a tree, in the branches of a tree that they had climbed illicitly, on the banks of a small creek, in the meadow all over again …

"So what you're saying is you're kissed out completely?"

"Not at all." Her smile was sultry. "Would you like to spend the night?"

"Fully clothed?" Booth asked cautiously.

"If that's how it has to be in order to ensure your presence in my bed for the evening, then, yes, fully clothed," she replied regretfully.

"Tell you what," Booth decided. "I need to run home and get some clothes that aren't covered in hay. These itch like crazy. I'll come by in an hour, maybe? It'll give you time to shower and change."

"My invitation for the shower remains," Brennan hinted through the open window of his SUV.

Booth leaned out and kissed her quickly. "Crazy, sexy squint," he groaned, watching her grow smaller in the rearview mirror as he drove away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Sniper reflexes were never far beneath the surface. As soon as Booth let himself into his dark apartment he felt, rather than saw, the movement in his living room and knew someone was waiting for him. He flattened himself to the wall, wishing he'd taken his gun along for the daytrip. He spotted a knife gleaming on the nearby kitchen counter and began to make his way toward it, figuring he could impale the intruder if things got hairy. Almost in the same breath, a familiar voice called out,

"Don't shoot! Not yet, anyway."

Booth frowned and reached for the light switch. _"Max?"_

Max Keenan stepped out of the shadows, shrugging sheepishly. His face was a swollen mass of purpling cuts and bruises. "You should do a better job of hiding your spare key."

"Where the hell have you been?" Booth advanced on him angrily. "Bones is worried out of her mind!"

Keenan took a small step back, holding up his hands peaceably. "Just let me explain."

"You damn well better!" He shoved the older man backward into a chair, hovering over him menacingly.

"I'm the one who hit Tempe."

"_What?" _Booth exploded, feeling the axis of his world shift. His hands curled into fists and reached for Max's neck, but murdering Brennan's father didn't seem like a good way to finally get her to fall in love with him. The confession also somehow didn't ring true. In spite of all his faults, Max loved his daughter, and Booth had always known that and even respected the man for his efforts to protect Brennan. "You wanna run that by me again?"

"Is she okay?" Max asked, strangely anxious for a father who'd left his daughter to die in a drainage ditch.

"I'm not answering that until you tell me what the hell is going on," Booth snapped, taking several steps back in an effort to avoid breaking every bone in the man's body. "Start talking, Max."

"Several members of the old gang—ones you've never heard of, so don't ask me for names—resurfaced recently. They put a hit out on Tempe in order to get to me, so I took the fight to them. The day Temperance came to my place, they'd converged on my place. They had their guns trained on her from every angle from the minute she got out of that car. If I hadn't followed their orders and knocked her out, they would've shot her."

"You do know they left her in a drainage ditch to die," Booth snarled. "Right?"

Max blanched. "I found out later, yes. But right after I knocked her out, they shot me."

He lifted the hem of his t-shirt, revealing an extremely crudely patched wound just above his solar plexus. Blood was seeping from the fringes of the homemade pressure bandage.

"You need to get medical attention for that, Max."

"I had no idea what had happened to her," the conman continued. "They tied me up in the basement, left me there to bleed to death, but I got free. Is she okay?"

Booth groaned, sinking into the couch. "She is now, but she definitely won't be once she hears this."

"You can't tell her," Max said quickly.

"What?" Booth raised an eyebrow in amazement. "How are you planning on keeping the bullet wound from her? She won't miss the way you're walking with a limp. What'd they do, shoot you in the leg, too?"

"They tried to kneecap me and then quit for some reason. Booth, she can't know," Max repeated. "They'll found out soon enough that neither of us is dead. They'll find out, Booth. You know it. I have to take them out, and in order to do that I have to leave town and cut ties with Temperance again."

Booth vaulted from the couch in horror. "No, Max, you_ cannot_ do that. No way in hell can you just vanish from her life again without a trace. You'll kill her."

"You're in love with her," the older man said quietly.

"Damn straight, I am. That's why I can't let you do this."

"I've always known you loved her. You be good to her. Keep her safe."

"Max," Booth pleaded, "She's finally taking a chance on somebody, and the lucky bastard just happens to be me. I love her, yes. I would die for her. _And I hate, I really, really hate that the woman I love never manages to catch a fucking break!"_

He paced back in forth in agony. "Every time she has a chance of happiness, something comes along that blows it all to hell again. Her future is opening up after years of being locked behind padlocks and chains. If you leave again, you might as well bury her alive like the Grave Digger did."

"There's no other way."

"Let me help you. We can track these goons down and lock them away."

Max shook his head sadly. "It doesn't work that way and you know it. If it did, Christine and I wouldn't have had to go into hiding. These people are above and beyond the reaches of law enforcement."

Booth's phone chose that moment to ring. Max quietly withdrew a pistol and trained it on Booth.

"If that's Tempe, tell her everything's okay and you'll see her in the morning."

Keeping his eyes on Max, Booth opened the phone.

"Hi, Bones."

"_Hi. Could you pick up a quart of milk on your way over here?"_

"We're going to have to postpone our date. Your dad is sitting in my living room holding a gun on me."

"_What?"_

Max fired a warning shot into the arm rest of the couch, his distorted features twisting in anger. Booth dropped the phone, aware the call hadn't been disconnected.

"You're an idiot. If I take you out, she'll lose both of us at the same time. I thought you loved her."

"I love her enough not to lie," Booth answered calmly. Being shot at and threatened was nothing unusual in his line of work. "Enough not to let you leave without a fight."

Abruptly, Max stood up and turned the gun on himself. Booth scrambled to his own feet hastily.

"Max—"

"You take care of my baby girl," the man said hoarsely, backing away with the mouth of the pistol pressed to his temple. "Put a ring on her finger one of these days. She loves you too, Booth. Don't let her make you think differently because she's afraid."

"She's afraid because of _you_! You're the reason she's terrified to trust anybody. And your leaving all over again isn't going to help matters any!"

"I wish things didn't have to be this way." Max waved at the couch. "You sit right there. Don't follow me any farther, or I pull this trigger and check out of Tempe's life permanently."

Booth wasn't altogether sure that would necessarily be a bad thing, but he did as ordered, watching Max Keenan vanish out the door even as he knew what Brennan's reaction would be.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Where is he?" Brennan raced into the apartment, disregarding every warning Booth had ever given her about being wary around half-open doors.

Booth held up a hand as he finished speaking to the FBI dispatcher, then turned to her. "He's gone, Bones. I've got agents out looking for his car."

"You let him go?" Brennan's voice was shrill.

Booth warred with his instincts. On the one hand, he didn't want Brennan blaming him. On the other, he knew she probably would anyway, and it would save her having to know that her father was so intent on abandoning her again that he was willing to threaten suicide.

"He had a gun on me."

"You could've disarmed him! What about all your training?"

"Bones, I'm sorry," Booth said gently, taking a step toward her.

"Don't come near me!" she cried. "How could you let him just leave, Booth?" Her eyes glittered with anger and accusations.

"Bones, please." He took another step.

"No. You stay away from me." She backed towards the threshold.

"Don't shut me out, Bones," he begged. "Let me explain."

Just like her father, she stepped through the door and vanished down the hallway, leaving Booth alone again.

**o-o-o-o-o-**

**Post-narrative A/N: Okay, dear readers. ****Just so you know: the angst is well and truly about to hit the proverbial fan. (Much worse than above, yes.) Never fear, however, I promise I will make all your suffering (and theirs) well worthwhile in the end. ;)**


	45. Catharsis

**A/N: **

**Thank you to all the wonderful (albeit utterly panicked) reviews for the last chapter. It'll get better, I PROMISE. **

**But it's not going to get better *yet*. Fair warning: You will need tissues for the beginning sections of this chapter. I needed them while writing this and that never happens to me. This is my sadness disclaimer: It is very sad initially. Fear not though, there IS bright, glorious light at the end of the tunnel.**

**Re: Chapter 44. No, I did not know that Jessica Capshaw is the name of the actress who plays Rebecca. My knowledge of the show is limited to the intimate details of the main characters. I'm sorry that I inadvertently bestowed Jessica's name on a murder victim. It was completely unintentional and more than a little embarrassing.**

**Thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for helping me get through this very difficult chapter! The newest chapter to her series of one shots, **_**The Moments in the Telling, **_**is *gorgeous.* Loads of tenderness and kissing. **_**Seriously **_**worth a visit. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The message on Brennan's voicemail when she got home made it very clear how mistaken she had been. Max Keenan explained exactly how hard Booth had tried to stop him, and the lengths he'd gone to in order to escape. She tried calling Booth to apologize, but he didn't answer. Driving back to his place in her rental car seemed inadvisable, given her physical condition. Her insides felt as though they had been scooped out with a spoon. It was difficult just to stagger from the couch to the bedroom. At a cellular level, she ached.

She curled herself around a pillow and lay on top of the comforter, watching the minutes tick by on the alarm clock until sleep finally overcame her somewhere around five o'clock on Sunday morning.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Tuesday**

"Brennan."

Her head jerked up from the desk where it was resting. Angela shook her head in dismay, eyeing the deep bags under her friend's eyes and the overall pallor of her face.

"Sweetie, you need to go home and get some rest."

"I'm fine." Brennan stifled a yawn. "What time is it? I have to go over to the Hoover Building and talk to Booth. He hasn't answered any of my calls since Sunday."

"You understand why, right?" Angela asked. "I know you're upset about your dad, Bren, but shutting Booth out like that—blaming him for something when you know, sweetie, you _know_ that he would never have let Max just walk away without a fight—that was just wrong."

"It was a mistake." Brennan rubbed her weary eyes. "I acknowledge I reacted irrationally and will attempt to make amends."

"Well hurry up and do it already, so the hot FBI guy can scoop you up and carry you off to bed."

Brennan had to admit, if only to herself, that having Booth's arms around her would make sleeping at night much easier.

Angela held out a small stack of envelopes, along with a cup of coffee. "I brought you your mail and some caffeine."

"Thanks." Brennan put the coffee aside and flipped through the various scientific journals, bills and letters of inquiry for the coveted intern position. A large manila envelope caught her attention and she tore it open.

The artist hovered curiously. "Why is _People _sending you mail? If you tell me you bought a subscription, I'm officially richer than Hodgins, by the way."

"There's actually an office pool on my magazine subscriptions?" Brennan handed over the magazine. "It's from a photoshoot back in January, promoting _Bone Dust_. The cover came out quite well, don't you think?"

Angela stared in horror.

"What's wrong?" the anthropologist asked in surprise.

"Oh. _Oh_. Oh. My. God. Brennan." Angela tore her eyes away from the indelible image and stared at her best friend. "Please tell me Booth knows about this."

Brennan frowned. "Why would he? It's publicity for my book and its movie tie-in. There's nothing in the article that would be of particular interest to Booth, although I admit the photographer was very talented."

"Oh no." Angela sat down, shaking her head. "_Brennan."_

Brennan came around from behind the desk and joined her on the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Who is this?"Angela pointed at the tall, dark male model on the cover.

"He's the actor who will be playing Andy in the movie. Alexander something. He's attractive, but, unlike Agent Lister, completely ignorant. He thought Klieg lights were a kind of cigarette. Why?"

"You're _straddling _him, Brennan. And you're wearing next to nothing."

Brennan studied the photograph. The actor was posed, facing forward, on a chair. She was clad in a black corset and fishnet tights, sitting on his lap with her head tipped back toward the camera and a big, false grin on her face that she was quite certain had been Photoshopped in.

"I had no say in the wardrobe. Kathy Reichs, as I've written her, wears considerably different attire. The photograph is being used to entice young males to purchase magazines that generally appeal to a female demographic."

"Exactly." Angela covered her eyes. "Think for a minute about what you just said, sweetie. _Think."_

Typically, it took Brennan a minute to catch up to speed. "You think Booth will be upset."

"Yes!" Angela sat up, waving her hands. "Of course! How could he _not _be?"

"The interview was done back in January, months before we started dating. He would have no reason to feel his alpha male territory had been compromised."

"Did they shoot this before or after he told you he loved you in front of the Hoover Building the first time, Bren?"

"After."

"Brennan!" Angela cried, reaching out to clutch her friend's shoulders. "The man all but told you he'd love you for eternity. Seeing you on a magazine cover like this without warning after that kind of a declaration, even if you rejected him, is going to make him insane!"

"I've done other revealing photo shoots," Brennan protested. "His comments indicated that he enjoyed the cover artwork."

"Was there another actor in those photographs? A guy pretending to be your FBI partner, maybe?"

"No." Realization finally began to dawn on the anthropologist. "It's not the sexual connotation that you fear will upset Booth, so much as an overall usurpation of the symbolism behind our partnership."

"I don't know what that means," Angela said. "The only thing I do know is that Booth will see this as a complete betrayal on your end."

"I will apologize."

"I don't know if that's gonna be enough this time, Bren."

"When I didn't tell Booth about Josie's death, you said that was a small thing and would not ruin the relationship." Brennan's voice was suddenly uncertain. "Does this qualify as small?"

Angela took a deep breath and patted her friend's knee. "No, sweetie. This is a big mistake. If you'd told him, it wouldn't have been a problem, but you didn't. This isn't little. It's very, very big."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Dr. Brennan, may I speak with you for a minute?"

Brennan looked up from the microscope as Cam appeared. "Can it wait until I finish here?"

"No."

Puzzled, Brennan crossed the platform and joined her boss inside her office. She'd barely closed the door when Cam stepped behind her desk and held up a copy of _People Magazine._

"Would you like to maybe tell me about this?"

"It was a publicity interview for my novel. Is there a problem?"

"The problem is that I wasn't informed about it."

"My writing career is completely separate from my work here at the Jeffersonian. Why would I need to inform you of its progress?"

"Your books are based on your work here, Dr. Brennan. Ergo, _not _completely separate." Cam sank into her chair. "Higher ups would like to know why the Jeffersonian's star anthropologist is being portrayed as a dominatrix."

"I had no say in the wardrobe." Brennan parroted her reply to Angela earlier in the day. "A forensic anthropologist would never wear something like this. It would completely impede range of motion, not to mention—"

Cam held up a hand. "This isn't some dusty scientific journal that's going to wind up being used as hamster cage shavings. It's a national publication, distributed to a mass audience. How you're portrayed reflects upon the Jeffersonian."

Brennan flushed. "The interview was completely professional and should cause no damage to the Institute's image."

"I'm sure you were very eloquent. However, most people won't even read the article. They'll just look at the picture and drool." The pathologist sighed. "Just make sure you tell me the next time something like this is going to wind up in the checkout aisle at every grocery store and Mini-Mart from here to Timbuktu, okay?"

"I'm quite certain _People Magazine_'s circulation doesn't extend to Timbuktu," Brennan said stiffly.

"You'd be surprised." Cam raised a curious eyebrow. "Does Booth know about this yet?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Compartmentalizing seemed to have vanished in favor of muted apprehension. It was next to impossible for Brennan to concentrate on her work. She'd left multiple messages for Booth, including a text and an email, and he still hadn't answered. In between looking through historical bills of sale for slaves that might hold a clue to the Revolutionary War teenager's identity, Brennan watched the clock, waiting for 5:00 to roll around so she could go over to the FBI Building. At 3:45 she gave up and decided to call it a day.

She was just pulling on her coat and getting ready to leave when Booth walked in. Brennan's stomach sank at the grim look on his handsome face. Every sign of anger was in place, from the loosened tie and furrowed brow to the set jaw.

He walked up to her desk and dropped the magazine in front of her.

"Parker came by my office today after school. Said he had something to show me."

His flat tone indicated Brennan should say something, but she wasn't sure what, if anything, would make a difference.

"Booth—"

"He wanted to know if we were separating," the FBI Agent interrupted coolly. "Like his mom and I did."

This was worse than Angela had predicted. Brennan knew all too well that Booth would take plenty of hits and keep standing, but when Parker was involved, things became very serious.

"I'm sorry." Her throat tightened. "I didn't intend to cause Parker any pain."

His hands balled into fists and unclenched, then balled up again—yet another sign that he was seriously not happy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"The photograph was taken months before we began dating. It was a publicity interview for my new novel. I didn't think it was important." After being repeated throughout the day, the answer sounded lame even to her ears.

"That's right, Bones. You didn't _think_. You didn't think about how a picture of you falling out of a dress while hanging all over some guy dressed up as an FBI Agent might look on my end of things." He gestured wildly, as he was prone to do when irate. "The guys ragged me all day. They've got this—" he lifted the magazine and dropped it back onto the desk, "hanging in their lockers. On the bathroom mirrors. In the coffee room. You're like _Playboy _pin-up of the month for them and I'm a hotline to the hotness! I can't escape."

She reached out to touch him, to try and make some kind of a connection, but he took a step back and crossed his arms.

"What do you think my bosses are going to say when they see this, Bones?"

"They would have no reason to reprimand you," she answered in surprise. "The photograph was undertaken entirely on my own initiative and had no connection to our partnership whatsoever. I'll speak to Cullen if it becomes necessary."

"No, thanks. I don't need you pissing him off more than he already will be." Booth snorted derisively. "What I don't understand, Bones, is how your genius brain can't see a connection with this," he leaned forward and tapped the magazine, "and our partnership, when the headline screams," he spread his hands wide and sarcastically announced, "BOOTH AND BRENNAN TAKE ON CRIME."

"The headline refers to the characters in the novel. It should have read Lister and Reichs, but the writer of the article was obviously trying to imply a connection between my work with you and…" she trailed off.

"Yeah." Booth's shoulders slumped and the anger drained from him. "You're never going to trust me are you." It wasn't a question.

The look of resignation on his face was ten times worse than his earlier anger.

"Booth, I had no idea what the headline would be," she pointed out. "The interview was ordered by my editor. I should have realized the repercussions the image would carry, but my failure to understand how the photograph would be viewed reflects naiveté on my part, not a lack of trust."

"Bones," he said in a quiet voice that sent chills down her spine, "It's not just the magazine. It's the cat and the skydiving and Catherine and all those other little moments when you freak out and run away."

"Catherine?" she repeated in confusion, aware on a peripheral level that he had deliberately refrained from mentioning her father.

"You never asked me about that lunch. I know you saw us at the diner and were worried, but you never said anything to me about it."

He didn't give her a chance to say anything before continuing.

"You don't trust me. I've given you everything, but that's never going to change. Is it."

"Booth—"

"I can't do this, Bones." The deep sadness in his eyes reminded her of how he had looked on the steps of the Hoover Building.

She bit her lower lip in worry. "I don't know what that means."

"It means my experiment failed." His dark eyes glistened.

"The experiment has been successful," she objected. "This is just a minor aberration in the face of the other evidence we've collected."

"It was successful on your end, Bones, not on mine. We were running two different experiments." His voice was hoarse. "We always have been, from the first day we met."

The finality in his voice sent panic through her bloodstream, causing bitter words to spill out that Brennan didn't mean. "I was right about a romantic relationship ruining our partnership."

"You're always right, Bones," he said softly. "Aren't you." Once again, not a question. "Goodbye, Temperance."

Frozen behind the desk, she watched him jam his hands in his pockets, turn, and walk away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The church was dimly lit and fragrant with incense. A guttering streetlight cast an erratic stained glass pattern across the simple stone altar. In the darkness, a few candles flickered, accompanying those who sought comfort late in the night.

Booth knelt, face covered by his hands. His broad shoulders convulsed and he dropped his head to the cool wood of the pew, grieving what might have been if only he'd been a better, stronger man.

_Lord, I got nothing left here. Grant me strength._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She felt dead. As though her internal organs had suffered some sort of congruent, synchronized failure, starting with her inability to digest anything other than minute quantities of salad, progressing into an overall inability to breathe, segueing into a malfunction of her brain's ability to process, which caused her heart to stop beating.

She made it through each day by blocking out all extraneous activity. Her sole focus became the cadavers, much as they had once been. Angela was visibly disappointed, Cam remained irate and Booth … Booth was gone, somewhere, on personal leave, completely severing all contact. But the bones still spoke to her. They kept her company. Working on them until the wee hours of the morning, she managed to deprive her body of enough rest that when she did finally collapse for a few short of hours of sleep, at least she did not dream.

The decision came to her while finalizing the paperwork for the Revolutionary War skeleton, who turned out to be Amaya Henson, a young slave who had followed her master into battle. The details on why were nonexistent. Booth would have come up with some semi-plausible conjecture as to why a teenage girl fought side-by-side with men who had enslaved and brutalized her entire family.

Brennan did not make guesses. She signed the final document and nodded at the intern who would put Amaya's remains away, and then research any potential family members who could come claim the remains. As the skeleton was wheeled away, the anthropologist realized she needed the opinion of another individual who processed things similarly. One who would not jump to conclusions without carefully weighing all the evidence.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Dad_."

Booth glanced over at his son, who had obviously been trying to get his attention for some time. "What's up, buddy?"

"Childproof locks?" Parker sighed, pointing at the door. "Like you really need them anyway. I'm not going to jump out of the car when you're going 90."

"I don't speed," Booth replied firmly, hitting the unlock button. "Not unless it's an FBI matter and I have to get somewhere quickly."

"Uh-huh." Parker shrugged out of his seatbelt, grabbed his baseball gear and hopped out of the car.

"I'll be there in a minute," Booth called, watching him tromp off toward the field, where his friends were waiting impatiently.

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. It was easier to sleep somewhere besides his apartment these days. He'd washed his sheets multiple times, but her scent still seemed to linger. Getting a good night's rest was an exercise in futility with the memory of her soft body pressed up against his in the bed, on the couch, in his kitchen.

"Dad?"

Booth swiveled his head toward the half-open passenger's window. Parker peered at him curiously.

"Shouldn't you be warming up for the game?"

"Dad, are you and Bones still kissing?"

He shifted uncomfortably in what had, just a few moments ago, been a very comfortable seat. "No, son. We're not. Why?"

"You should start again. I want to go to Good Times next weekend and she promised to teach me more tricks." The boy grinned and jogged away, unaware of the knife he'd just lodged in his father's ribcage.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Zack Addy's pale, round face was worried as he walked Brennan to the nurse's station. Visiting hours were over, and he felt strongly that the brief time they'd spent together had not been particularly productive.

"I hope was able to be of some assistance, Dr. Brennan. I unfortunately have no expertise in the area which you consulted me upon."

Brennan smiled wanly at him. "You were very helpful, Zack."

"Why did you drive all the way here instead of just calling?" he asked curiously.

"I wanted to speak with you face-to-face."

It was a nonsensical statement, but he didn't call her on it.

She hugged him unusually tightly and motioned for the charge nurse to unlock the door to the rest of the building.

"Dr. Brennan."

She turned and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He'd held the secret ever since being committed to the mental institution. However much it had disturbed him to know that people for whom he had the highest respect thought he was a murderer, he had believed the correct approach was to say nothing, for a variety of carefully weighed reasons. And yet it was suddenly irrationally important that he confess. He went with his gut, which was something Zack never did.

He would reflect later that his time in the hospital was having a detrimental effect on his thinking process and would request Hodgins supply him with further material to test his brain.

"I didn't kill those people. Not physically. I was responsible for their deaths in every other way, but I did not end their lives directly. "

The charge nurse held the door open, waiting for Brennan to exit the ward. The anthropologist smiled, much more genuinely this time. She reached out and clasped her former intern's shoulder.

"I know, Zack."

He frowned. "All evidence suggested that I was the guilty party. How did you know?"

"I just did." The look on her face was one that Zack might have classified as surprised, if he had been better at picking up social cues.

"I just knew," she repeated. "From the very first day."

She kissed his cheek and departed, leaving Zack with a definite puzzle on his mind to exercise his brain. How had she known? What piece of evidence had turned up that had changed her original belief that he was physically guilty of the crime? And why had her eyes filled with tears as she turned away? He wandered back toward the common lounge, analyzing the problem.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She held it together through the long drive home on the highway, at endless stop lights, behind a steady stream of traffic. As her apartment complex came into view, she veered into the left hand lane and turned around, heading back the way she'd just driven.

She was independent. Self-sufficient. A woman of means, who required no one to validate her existence. Allowing people to see the cracks just beneath the polished surface was not safe.

She couldn't justify the direction her vehicle took, away from the empty apartment toward a place where people would see the façade splintering. Asking for help was anathema to her chemical composition. She couldn't validate not wanting to be alone or needing the comfort of another human being. So she didn't. She drove all the way to her destination and walked up the driveway without justifying her actions, still clinging to one small shred of emotional stability until the door opened on a friendly face.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The knock on the door was tentative.

"I'll get it!"

Hodgins grimaced and slid out from under the sink where he'd been messing with some leaking pipes. He could easily have called a plumber, but Angela got all excited to see him doing manly things. He figured it was good for at least a few brownie points.

Wiping his greasy hands on a kitchen towel-oops, was that Angela's favorite impressionist embroidery he'd just smeared with WD 40? What was it doing on the counter?—he headed over to the door and swung it open.

"Dr. B!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What are you—" His words faded away as he took in Brennan's bloodless face. While he stood there, stunned, a single tear slid down her cheek.

"Oh God." Hodgins panicked, completely incapable of processing his boss standing in tears on his doorstep. "_Ange!"_

"What?" she called irritably from her studio

"_Ange!" _he repeated, clutching the doorknob.

His wife appeared in the foyer, wielding a paintbrush. "This better be good."

Her eyes went wide as she caught sight of her best friend.

"Oh, _Bren_." The artist hurried forward and ushered her inside, glaring at Hodgins for not doing so earlier. "Sweetie."

Angela guided Brennan to the couch and enfolded her in a warm embrace.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She cried.

In Jack Hodgins' living room, with Angela holding her tightly and whispering comforting nonsense, the scientist let down her guard and wept.

She cried for her former intern, a young man with exceeding promise locked away from the world long before the doors of the mental institution closed behind him.

She cried for her friends, the surrogate family she'd formed in the absence of a true anthropological unit, and the meddlesome caring they showed so frequently.

She cried for the bones, the bodies, the faces stolen from so many, some which would never be reclaimed.

She cried for her parents, for Max, especially, and all the misguided decisions that had stolen her childhood away.

She cried for the years wasted, waiting, afraid.

She cried because crying released serotonin and would undoubtedly afford her relief.

She cried just to cry, for a change, because she never did, not like this.

She cried because some days it was really hard being Temperance Brennan, viewing through the world through a scientific prism that she thought was beautiful, but which so many people misinterpreted as distorted and unfeeling.

She cried because the metaphorical iceberg in the region of her thoracic cavity was melting at an incredibly rapid rate.

She cried because at last, at long last, in her heart, in her gut, she _knew_. And now all that was left to do was tell him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Hodgins knocked on the door to Booth's office. "Dude."

The FBI Agent looked up from whatever he'd been reading. He stood, surprised. "What's up?"

"Thought you might like to know. Brennan is in my house, on my couch, in my wife's arms, sobbing."

"Nice try, Hodgins." Booth shook his head. "Bones doesn't cry. Not like that. And certainly not with people watching."

"You'd lose that bet."

The entomologist strode forward, uninvited, into the office. He pulled out a small videocamera, hit play and handed it over. He watched Booth watching and counted down the seconds in his mind until the shit hit the fan. Six, five, four-

"_You taped her crying?" _Booth's face was livid as he dropped the recorder and rounded the desk, headed straight for Hodgins. "_What the hell is the matter with you?"_

Hodgins stood his ground, finding that he was equally enraged as the FBI Agent planted both hands on his chest and shoved him backwards.

"No, dude. What the hell is the matter with _you_?" Hodgins came right back and shoved Booth in the same manner. "You're the reason she's a mess!"

Booth got seriously in his face. "This is none of your business, bug man."

"Oh, yeah?" Hodgins didn't flinch. "Try again. Angela and I want to have a baby. Only problem is, that occasionally requires, you know, sex. Something which we haven't had any of since you dumped Brennan!"

"Don't blame me for your lousy sex life," Booth warned.

"I think I will," Hodgins retorted. "Thanks all the same. I've known Brennan longer than you. Let me tell you, at the beginning, we all wanted to get in her pants."

Booth landed a hard right to the entomologist's nose, rupturing blood vessels and bruising cartilage on contact. Hodgins clamped his free hand over his profusely bleeding nose and retaliated with a solid uppercut to the agent's jaw.

"Every last one of us—Angela, Zack, probably even Goodman, wanted her, man. She was freaking _hot_."

Enraged, Booth sailed in with fists flying. Hodgins kept talking a mile a minute, ducking punches and holding his own impressively, in spite of the carnage to his face.

"Yeah, she was hot. Only, come to find out, she was also completely _frozen_. Totally beautiful. And cold as a robot. Until you showed up and pieces of the glacier started melting."

Booth paused momentarily, giving Hodgins the advantage long enough for him to land a hard blow to the agent's gut.

"Man," Hodgins gasped, clutching his battered face as Booth doubled over, "You are such a control freak! Even your dates are controlled down to the last detail. Scheduled necking? Seriously?"

"According to Sweets, Angela would like a little more of that detail on your dates," Booth answered smugly, rubbing his bruised jaw. He tossed the entomologist a box of Kleenex for his streaming nose. "You're destroying my carpet."

"You're mad at Brennan because you can't predict what she's going to do or say." Hodgins staggered backwards into a chair, clutching a wad of tissue to his nostrils. "She falls totally outside the little boxes you like to put people in. Did you even read the article in that magazine? She actually came clean and confessed you were the inspiration for Andy!"

"Yeah." Booth dropped onto an unbloodied patch of couch. "I read it. She told the whole world before she got around to telling me."

"Control freak," Hodgins muttered again. "Who cares when she told you, as long as she did?" He scrabbled in his pocket. "Here. I rescued this from Brennan's trash after Angela told me about it. It's your fault if it's covered in AB negative."

Booth caught the crumpled piece of paper and smoothed away the creases. He scanned the document. It was a letter of invitation to a yearlong dig in Serbia, identifying the remains of genocide victims.

"The last line, accepting or declining the invitation," Hodgins pointed out helpfully, as he reached for another tissue. "Not signed, if you'll notice."

He had noticed.

"Dude." Hodgins sat up and leaned forward intently, raining bloody pieces of Kleenex every which way. "This time she isn't the one who's running."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: This is your captain speaking. You may now unbuckle your seatbelts and take a deep breath. That was the worst of it. Things are going to get much better from here on out …**

**Friendly (as opposed to flaming) reviews would be much appreciated, as always. ;) The more specific you are, the better I can use your suggestions/likes/dislikes down the road.**


	46. Lost and Found

**A/N: Okay, first of all I need to say WOW. Just, WOW. Rarely do I find myself speechless, but the outpouring of encouragement for Ch. 45 was **_**incredible.**_** Not only did you guys turn out in droves to review the story, most of you took the time to do so with loads of lovely, helpful specifics. I'm really touched. Thank you. No other words suffice.**

**IMPORTANT NOTES FOR THIS CHAPTER:**

**Brennan's thoughts in the letter are largely structured around her conversation with Angela in **_**The Glowing Bones in the Old Stone House**_**. **

**I suggest you re-familiarize yourself with Chapter 30 of this fic before reading this chapter. Just skim through their conversation briefly.**

**Many thanks to Amilyn and Eternal Destiny 304 for the beta work. The chapter is all the better because of their suggestions and encouragement.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

He couldn't sleep.

In the three weeks since Booth had ended things with Brennan, the amount of shut-eye he'd managed to log was somewhere in the range of four hours a night, never uninterrupted. After seeing the clip of Brennan crying, sleep became even more elusive than it had already been.

Guilt corroded his insides. Guilt because he'd been the one who caused her to break. Guilt because he hadn't been the one to hold her and help pick up the pieces after that shield finally failed and she reached out for another human being. Guilt because he'd broken every promise he'd ever made to her about accepting her as she was, about never leaving, about being somebody she could count on.

Vertical catnaps at strange hours of the day, combined with a steady infusion of coffee, managed to keep him conscious enough to get through each workday and his weekends with Parker. At night, he tanked up on more caffeine and drove aimlessly, roaming the darkened streets of DC rather than returning to his apartment and the promise of another sleepless night.

He knew he couldn't continue for much longer. His desire to gamble was growing stronger by the day. In the dark hours before the sun rose and he could escape to the office again, the siren call of online poker was almost deafening, tempered only by the Gamblers Anonymous meetings Booth had begun dragging himself to again.

Though the ongoing case of the four murdered foster children was currently a screen, eventually his boss was going to catch on to the rift in the partnership and demand answers. Either that or, on one of those night drives Booth was going to fall asleep at the wheel, wreck the SUV and kill himself along with innocent bystanders.

His reflexes were so dulled by sleep deprivation that going out into the field was becoming a definite hazard. He wasn't sure he could take down a suspect, much less dodge a bullet if that's what was required.

So Booth chugged coffee and drove the back roads on the outskirts of the city and prayed for a way to fix what he had damaged so badly. If only he could just go to her place and show her how sorry he was. But he felt he had no right to approach her after the pain he'd caused.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She waited in the car until the last visitor left before getting out and making her way over to the grave.

There was no dolphin this time. No flowers thoughtfully purchased by Angela; no Max lurking nearby.

Brennan hovered in front of her mother's headstone awkwardly.

"I have no idea why I'm here."

Her words floated back to her on the early evening breeze, and she was glad that nobody was around to laugh.

"When Booth needed advice, he talked to his mother's grave. He claims she responded to him. That is, of course, not possible, anymore than it would be feasible for you to answer me today."

She shivered for no reason and wrapped her coat around her more tightly.

"After you vanished, I talked to you for months, even though you were not there to hear me. That was no more rational than what I'm attempting now, but I was a teenager at the time, clinging to the belief that you were alive somewhere and might one day come back for me."

Brennan glared at the silent headstone, feeling more and more annoyed at herself for doing something so foolish.

"I am not a teenager now, so that excuse is no longer valid. You are not alive. You did not come back for me. You cannot hear me or reply to my questions anymore than you could back then. Why am I doing this?"

A fine mist of rain began to fall, deceptively gentle but chilling Brennan's skin more quickly than a hard downpour.

"Absurd," she muttered to herself and turned away, jamming her hands into her coat pockets. The fingers in her right pocket made contact with an unexpected piece of paper. Unlike some her colleagues, Brennan wasn't prone to filling her pockets with useless detritus. Curious, she paused in her walk back to the car and extracted the paper.

It was a horizontal leaf from a George Washington University Hospital stationery pad. She realized with a jolt that it was the note Booth had slipped into her pocket all those weeks ago when Parker had been hospitalized. In the rush to light candles and get back to Booth's side, she'd forgotten all about it and apparently hadn't worn the coat since.

His familiar, hard, fast scrawl slanted across the page.

_Thank you by Led Zeppelin_

_Google it!_

It was, of course, a complete coincidence that she'd found the note while visiting her mother's grave. As she considered the musical valentine, an idea began to percolate. It grew in strength as she drove home and tracked down the song online. By the time she finished listening, the rudimentary framework of a plan had taken shape.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela stood in Booth's kitchen, fuming. "You broke my husband's nose and my best friend's heart. Give me one reason I shouldn't poison your coffee."

"I can't." The FBI Agent propped himself wearily against the kitchen counter, rubbing his eyes. "Believe me, Angela, I have no more respect for myself right now than you or Jack do."

In spite of her anger, Angela felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He looked every bit as bad as Brennan did. Dark circles were hollowed out under his eyes and his jaw had heavy stubble that would've looked sexy if he wasn't wearing rumpled clothes that looked liked they'd been slept in, or like he'd worn them while tossing and turning.

"Then why don't you _do _something about it, Booth?" she urged. "You and Brennan are both miserable without each other and you're making the rest of our lives equally unhappy."

"You weren't there." He opened the fridge and peered inside. "After what I did, I have no right to go anywhere near her."

"I _was_ there," Angela retorted. "Maybe not when you dumped her, but I was definitely present when she came apart at the seams."

"Then you should understand why I need to stay away." He extracted a beer and offered it to her. When she declined, he put it back on the shelf and closed the door. "She deserves better than a partner who'll cut and run when things get bad."

The artist stifled a frustrated groan at his completely skewed logic. "Booth, she hurt you. You hurt her." Angela put her hands on his shoulders, as she'd done with Brennan in the office that disastrous day when she'd first laid eyes on the magazine. "She ran. You ran. Now, you're even. So fix things, already!"

Booth pulled away and wandered toward the living room.

"This is the closest Brennan has ever come to realizing how she feels about you," Angela insisted, following him as he sank down onto a couch that looked like it had probably recently replaced his bed, judging from its twin appearance to his clothes.

"The woman is in love, whether or not either of you knows it." Exasperated, she dragged a chair over and sat directly in front of him, so he couldn't ignore her gaze. "Booth, she burned down half of DC for you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The day Parker was in the hospital. You asked her to light a candle for you, remember? She lit, like, 300, Booth."

Booth straightened, looking more alert than he'd been since Angela walked into his apartment. "What are you saying?"

"The woman who doesn't believe in God made me research every church in a 25 mile radius to the hospital. Then she had me drive down with a bag of spare change and matches so she could run around town lighting candles for your son, because you love him and _do _believe, and she loves you, Booth."

The FBI Agent's eyes widened in shock. He sat back against the couch heavily, clearly processing what he'd just been told.

Angela leaned in intently. "Yes. She loves you. You finally got through. And now you're going to throw it all away? You broke her heart, Booth, yes. After six years of being a human yo-yo to her emotional weirdness, the string finally snapped. I get it." She touched his knee, hoping some small part of her words was penetrating that thick G-man brain. "I know you love her. But if you don't pull it together and rectify the whole sad situation, I'm going to have to send Jack over to kick your ass again."

When her last comment failed to cause even a slight smile, Angela knew things were even worse than she'd feared.

Booth clasped his hands in front of him and lowered his head to rest on them, eyes closed. "I don't deserve her, Angela. I betrayed every promise I ever made about not leaving. About her being able to trust me."

"Love isn't about deserving," she answered, her hand on his shoulder. "If it was, Jack wouldn't have put up with me long enough for us to get married. Believe me, if I thought for one minute that you weren't good for Brennan, I wouldn't be here. You two are supposed to be together. _Do something about it."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The letter was taped to his front door when he got home from a late night drive. He knew immediately who it was from; her neat, precise handwriting on the envelope was as familiar as Parker's hasty scribbles. The thought that she'd come by his apartment sent a shot of longing through him.

Booth stepped into his apartment and tossed his keys into the bowl on a small coffee table Brennan had given him for organizational purposes. He shucked off his coat and tossed it onto the back of a chair before heading into the living room.

He sat down and tore open the envelope.

_Dear Booth,_

_I have something to say. I know, I always do. Your comment about me always being right wasn't unwarranted. I'm usually correct, it's true, and false modesty is a form of dishonesty, but I don't mean to come across as arrogant. It is a character flaw I am attempting to ameliorate. _

_I know that you don't want any kind of interaction with me at the present moment. Nevertheless, I'm asking you to read the following based on the five years of partnership and friendship that preceded our now defunct romantic experiment._

_I am, in some ways, grateful for your words the day you walked out of my office. I needed to hear them. The lab acts as a sort of insulating bubble which both protects and hinders my interactions with society. It's easy to retreat within its walls and blame others for misunderstanding my intentions. It is true that I frequently don't think about how my actions will affect others. That is something I will try and remedy in future personal interactions._

_Over the years I have made many mistakes, causing you hurt on multiple occasions, not the least of which was that day on the steps at the Jeffersonian. It means very little in retrospect, but I'm genuinely sorry. You deserved better. You still do. While my intentions were never malicious, your repeatedly patient response to my mistakes has been humbling. I also regret that I made you feel that you had to prove you were trustworthy on our dates when you've demonstrated ample evidence of that already._

_When Angela and Hodgins were first attempting to become engaged, I began to realize something that I wouldn't, or couldn't, acknowledge in its entirety at the time. Over the last few weeks, that realization has returned and I find I am now more capable of both processing and verbalizing my original thoughts._

_It seems that in almost every relationship I've ever been in, there's come a point where I've drawn back in order to calculate the odds of everything that could possibly go wrong. It's a flawed safety mechanism, designed to keep me from being hurt that has led to the eventual demise of many of my friendships and romances._

_I've wanted to have that deep connection with other human beings, but there's been a disconnect between what I desire and what I am actually capable of giving. It's been much easier to make lists of everything that wouldn't work in a relationship than to make a list of the things that would. I'm not sure whether that makes sense to you, but it's clear in my mind._

_I was attracted to you early on, but I knew that a rupture in our hypothetical romance might destroy our friendship and work partnership. So, essentially, I avoided a relationship with you because of the possibility of pain._

_My fears proved well-founded. I've been in pain the last few weeks. But what I've realized is that I don't regret it. If we hadn't dated, I wouldn't have gotten hurt, but I also wouldn't have experienced everything you shared with me. I'm no longer willing to avoid relationships because of dire future possibilities. Angela was right. I'm missing too much._

_Booth, I want to try again. We hurt each other this time, and it will, in all likelihood, happen again, but I want to take the risk, if you're willing to take it with me. I'm aware you have every reason to say no to my request. Should you decide that you do want to give me yet another chance, though you've already given me many, please go to the following address and ask to speak to Genevieve. _

**1791 Canal Street Northwest**

_Sincerely,_

_~Temperance_

_PS: I miss my nickname._

Booth read and reread the letter. He hadn't been man enough to step up and repair the damage to their relationship, so she'd done it herself. Feelings of love, remorse and relief collided within him, making him glad he was sitting. He was fairly certain that the combination, when paired with his sleep-deprived senses, might have caused him to go weak-kneed.

The place she wanted him to visit, whatever it was, would undoubtedly be closed at 4:17 in the morning. But that didn't stop Booth from grabbing his keys and heading back out again.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself in front of a squat, concrete building with blacked out windows decorated with random lyrics and CD artwork. A large sign, done graffiti style, labeled the place **UR Toonz.** He frowned. This definitely didn't look like a place Bones would frequent. Then again, the woman was prone to surprising him.

He walked up to the storefront to read the hours. They opened at 9:00, which left him plenty of time to do absolutely nothing. Getting back into the car, he decided to hang out a nearby 24 hour McDonald's for a few hours. He hadn't bargained on how much he'd think of Brennan the moment he saw apple pie on the menu.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

When a tattooed, green mohawked store employee opened shop around 9:15, Booth was more than ready to quit loitering in the parking lot and was right behind her as she unlocked the door and looked at him suspiciously.

"Are you Genevieve?"

"Yeah," she answered curtly, snapping on the lights to reveal orderly rows of music, organized by genre. An eclectic wall of framed posters commemorating everything from Jimi Hendrix torching his guitar to the birth of MTV and Lady GaGa's recent ascension to fame. Vintage T-shirts, mostly black, touted everything from The Clash and The Cure to Madonna and Charlie Daniels.

"I'm Seeley Booth. I was told to speak with you."

"Who sent you?" Her voice was distinctly unfriendly and he got the impression that her customers weren't always necessarily friendly.

"Temperance Brennan."

"Oh, yeah. That chick." Genevieve relaxed moderately. "That is one weird lady. She walked in the other day, asked me to give you this. I told her UPS was just up the street, but she wouldn't shut up until I agreed." She pulled a taped index card off the counter and handed it over.

Booth took the card.

_**Crawling in the Dark.**_** Listen to me. There's a clue inside the lyrics and on the cover. Don't listen to any other songs on the CD! I assure you, this will not be nearly as complicated as the exercise you designed for me. There are only three hints, including this one.**

For the time in weeks, he smiled. "Is this the name of an album?"

"Naw. It's a song. You don't strike me as the type to listen to this sort of shit, but she was pretty determined. Hoobastank. Third aisle on your right."

He browsed through the shelf until he located the CD. The cover was a grayish white three dimensional cube with the title _The Reason _in the background, looped around a strange symbol. What looked like a Buddhist monk in white robes knelt in prayer in the foreground of the image. Leave it to Brennan to get all trippy.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Another treasure hunt?" Hodgins complained. "What is it with you people? Ever heard of just talking face-to-face, like normal human beings?"

"C'mon, Hodgins," Booth begged, sliding the lyrics across the kitchen table to him. "Angela won't talk to me, since she helped Brennan design the hunt. Help me out."

The entomologist shook his head. "If I help you, will you go away so I can actually spend part of my Saturday with my wife?"

"Absolutely," he promised.

Hodgins sighed. "I almost liked Brennan better the other way," he muttered, studying the lyrics. "She made more sense. If this really is a treasure hunt, you're looking for clues to a location. And there's only one line in the song that points to a specific place." He pointed. "_My story's ending. _It doesn't get much more obvious than that, dude. The only question is, which story?"

"She said there was also a clue in the cover. Is this the symbol for infinity?" Booth tapped the loopy swirl surrounding the title.

"That's it."

"_Bone Dead_. It's her third book—there's a serial killer who's taunting Kathy Reichs, threatening to come up with infinite possibilities of pain for his victims if she doesn't stop him." Booth clapped Hodgins on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."

"Wait." Hodgins left the kitchen for a moment and returned with the novel. He handed it to Booth. "Haven't got around to reading it yet."

With Hodgins hovering beside him, Booth flipped to the last page.

_**Reichs turned the corner of Constitution Avenue, passing the tiny secondhand bookstore that had survived the advent of behemoth book chains. She smiled to herself as she headed for her reunion with Lister. They'd survived too, and saved multiple lives in the process. Sometimes it was good to be dead right.**_

Booth laughed out loud, fully aware that she'd managed to get in a subtle jab while giving him the clue to the final location. It didn't take long to Google the exact address.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

__The bookseller was much more pleasant than Genevieve. A friendly, middle-aged man with a paunch, he vividly remembered Dr. Brennan and prattled on at length about the wonderful argument they'd had about a controversial scientific biography, before Booth managed to get him back on point.

"She and her friend asked me to safeguard this until you came looking for it." He produced a small wooden box and handed it over, along with another folded index card, this one in bright green. "She said you should read this first."

_**Sunday at 3:00. Angela will drive you to the right place. Listen to the title song of the album first and arrive LATE.**____**If you're there, I will know you've chosen to take another chance on me. **__**Regardless of your decision, I will continue to hold you in high esteem and will always be grateful for the years you were a part of my life. **_

Booth lifted the lid of the box. Painted on the inside of the box were three words, overlaid on the image of an island.

**Wish three granted.**

___**o-o-o-o-o-o**_

"Why?" Brennan asked again. "Why is it important that I wear these exact clothes?"

"_Because_, sweetie," Angela sighed, holding the hanger with a red shirt and floral skirt out to her, "It's romantic."

"Why?"

"Just trust me. This is what you want to wear tomorrow. Now. Let's talk about your hair and perfume. Do you remember …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Why does she want me to be late?" Booth demanded, pacing Angela and Hodgins' home and glancing at the clock.

The note and its implications had wired him completely. As tired as he was, adrenaline prevented him from sleeping most of the previous night.

"Because she's Brennan and she likes to make you crazy," Angela reminded him.

"It's 3:15," he pointed. "It'll take some time to get wherever we're going."

Hodgins gave his wife an amused, aggravated look.

Booth pounced. "Are you in on this too, bug guy?"

The entomologist raised his hands in an indication of innocence. "I'm just tagging along to spend some time with my wife, since she's been rather occupied all weekend," he said pointedly.

Angela poked him. "Poor neglected man. You never see me at work and you don't come home to me every day."

Before they could get all schmoopy, Booth inserted himself into the conversation. "Can we leave yet?"

"_Control freak_," Hodgins chuckled under his breath, earning a warning glare from his wife.

"First, you have to watch something."

"Watch something?" Booth repeated.

"Yes." Ignoring the signs of impending explosion, Angela calmly turned to her laptop and called up a website. "Jack, you need to leave until he finishes seeing this."

"What!" Hodgins exclaimed. "Hey, this is _my_ house, babe."

"And you won't be sleeping in _my _bed unless you do as I'm so very nicely asking. Babe." Angela smiled beatifically.

Muttering to himself about female conspiracies to drive a hard-working man insane, he stomped off.

She swiveled the computer toward Booth and pointed to a pair of earbuds before leaving the room. "When you're finished, let me know."

Every bit as annoyed as Hodgins—what, Angela couldn't have had him listen to this hours ago, when he was just waiting for 3:00 to roll around?—Booth sat down and adjusted the screen, then put the earbuds in and hit **play.**

He'd already listened to _The Reason_, as he had been ordered to do in the note. The song, all about a person changing for another person, cut him to the core, even though he knew she hadn't intended it that way. He wondered what she had in store for him next.

A fuzzy, grainy sequence unfolded on screen, one he very quickly recognized as a screencap from Brennan's most recent favorite movie, _Say Anything_. He sighed and sat back, trying not to groan at the cheesy lyrics as John Cusack hoisted the boombox over his head in the middle of the pouring rain, only to be ignored by his lady love.

As he watched the classic scene unfold, he noticed a banner running on a loop at the bottom of the video. He frowned and leaned forward to see it more closely, not catching it the first time. Even after the two words slid by multiple times in front of him, he didn't catch their meaning.

_Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry. For everything. Te iubesc. For everything. Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry. For everything. Te iubesc. For everything. Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry. For everything. Te iubesc. For everything. Thank you. For everything. I'm sorry. For everything. Te iubesc. For everything._

"Angela!" he bellowed, pulling the earbuds out. "What the hell does **tea eyeyoubesk** mean?"

The artist stuck her head back into the living room. "According to Brennan, it's pronounced _**teh youbesk. **_I would suggest you Google it. And hurry, Booth. We're late …" she retreated.

He swallowed a sarcastic retort and did as she suggested. What he found confirmed in his mind that they needed to leave the mansion _now_. Should have left 30 minutes ago. Should right now be arriving at wherever Brennan was waiting.

"_Angela!"_

"Over here, G-man." She jingled her keys from the doorway and he hotfooted it across the room toward where she and Hodgins were already waiting.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As soon as Hodgins turned the Mini-Cooper onto Massachusetts Avenue, Booth knew where they were headed, even before the oddly shaped Katzen Arts Center came into view.

His heart somersaulted. "We're headed for American University."

Angela smiled and squeezed his shoulder from the backseat, causing a grimace from Hodgins, who she slapped playfully. "Yes."

"Why American University?" Hodgins asked grumpily.

"It's where they first met."

Hodgins pulled the car up to the entrance and Booth jumped out, sprinting for the building.

The couple watched him go.

"Our kids are all grown up, honey," Angela sighed, resting her chin on Hodgins' backrest.

"After we eavesdrop, can we go home and try for some biological offspring?" he inquired, reaching up to kiss her. "You know, some that might actually turn out halfway normal, maybe?"

"Definitely," she grinned. "But right now, I have a prime position for us all staked out …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth ran all the way to the room he knew she'd be in. He pushed open the door to the auditorium without stopping for breath and almost fell into the lecture hall when it opened with very little resistance. Catching himself before he landed flat on his face, he looked up at the stage. His heart, which had seemed to stop beating on the day he ended things, restarted with a vengeance.

She was standing at a podium, wearing an outfit similar to the one she'd had on that first day. Red, v-necked top, accenting her cleavage. A knee-length, floral skirt showed off her shapely calves. Her hair was down, parted in a style he hadn't seen in a long time. He suspected, if he got close to her, that she would be wearing a fragrance that reminded him slightly of the outdoors after a hard rain.

He _needed _to get on that stage and hold her. Apologize. Tell her she was wonderful the way she was, and that they both had some growing to do, but they'd do it together. Kiss her until neither one of them could breathe.

Booth started down the aisle to the stage, but she spoke.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"That's where you were standing when you interrupted me." Her voice was soft, but projected well in the electro-acoustically enhanced room.

Booth rubbed his damp palms on his jeans, waiting for her to continue.

She stepped forward to the edge of the stage.

"On the first day, you said you knew. I didn't then. But I do now. I love you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: **

**If you don't understand the wish Brennan was referring to, re-read Chapter 30. **

**I've been having a Hoobastank fest lately. Links to the lyrics for the two songs mentioned in this chapter can be found on my profile page, along with links to the lyrics for all the other songs mentioned in the entire story thus far.**

**We're winding down to the last 5, maybe 10, chapters of this story. I hope when it's finished that you'll follow me over to my next fic. I'll post more details on that as **_**Problem Solving **_**wraps up. Still a couple more weeks left, at least. :)**


	47. Beginnings

**A/N: This chapter is short but sweet. It just didn't work to make it any longer. The scene is complete as is. There's also a minor (happy) twist coming in the next chapter, which a few of you have anticipated and/or requested. Watch for it in 48. =)**

**Copious thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for her betas and encouragement. I suggest you make it a priority to read her new fic, **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**. It's a plot I've never read before on ff. Really well-conceived, scripted and realistic.**

**Thanks also to Amilyn for all her help with fleshing out ideas for the piece. **_**Bones and Soul **_**is her series of brilliant, unique, really funny Bones shorts. Go read them. You'll see what I mean.**

**And, last, but certainly not least, thanks to all you wonderful reviewers. I love writing, but your comments, questions, suggestions, etc., make the pursuit all the more worthwhile.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Previously_

_Other than a few hungry ducks prowling the edges of the lake for bugs and worms, the park was empty when Brennan arrived at 5:30 am. She pulled off her sandals and placed them under a nearby bench before scanning the park for a suitable target. Selecting a beech tree several yards away, she closed her eyes and stepped off the dirt path onto the grass. _

_The rising sun still had little warmth to its rays. Damp grass under her feet, combined with the early morning chill, raised goosebumps on the anthropologist's bare, outstretched arms. As Brennan felt her way forward, familiar sounds crowded her ears, magnified by her momentary blindness. The ducks honked; several birds chirped; a squirrel somewhere in the tree canopy scolded loudly and raced along overhead, raining twigs around Brennan as she advanced slowly._

_She was inhaling the crisp fragrance of nearby pine trees when she stumbled over an unexpected obstacle and went sprawling. Her eyes flew open as she came to an undignified halt flat on her back. With the wind knocked out of her momentarily, Brennan stared up at the gray-blue sky and found herself suddenly laughing. The pain of her break-up with Booth receded momentarily as she clutched her ribcage and howled for no real reason other than the utter absurdity of her actions. _

_When she pulled herself together and got up, glaring pointedly at the large boulder that had tripped her, it was with a realization. She'd wanted to recreate the blind experience that Booth had shared with her. Without his hand guiding her steps, she'd still managed to make it almost all the way to the beech tree, now only a few feet away. She could find beauty in loneliness and shadows. She always had. She could survive on her own, even if nobody caught her when she fell. The realization was that she no longer wanted to. Wandering in the dark alone paled in comparison to facing that same darkness with him._

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Even from the stage, she could see how tired he was as he entered the room and started towards her, before she asked him to wait. His posture was different—less cavalier, take-on-the-world—and more reflective of a man who had fought in multiple wars, been subjected to torture, lost loved ones, but still somehow managed to remain standing, albeit a little stooped from the heavy weight of all the memories. It hurt to know that she was in part responsible for the exhaustion written in his every movement.

Booth pulled up short at her behest_-"Wait. That's where you were standing when you interrupted me."-_and Brennan's memory flashed back to that very first day. To her surprise, she realized that she could remember what he'd been wearing, down to the boring tie. It all came flooding back-her simultaneous irritation and arousal when he'd interrupted and offered that charming grin as a palliative measure; the immediate curiosity about an individual who clearly wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by her superior intellect; an overall awareness that here, brash and arrogant though he might be, tall and muscular in a way that perfectly suited his tailored attire, fully confident in his role in the world, was a _man_. Not a boy.

The past receded as the present took literal center stage. Nervously, Brennan stepped forward and said the three words that had taken her six years to finally verbalize.

"On the first day, you said you knew. I didn't then. But I do now. I love you."

If this had been a movie, he might have run towards her in slow motion, culminating in a passionate on-stage kiss. If this had been a play, an imaginary audience would have stood up and cheered as the curtain fell on the embrace. But this was real life. Theirs. Both partners were cross-eyed with fatigue, along with being more than a little guilt-ridden and still afraid. It was only natural that their progress toward each other—her walking slowly down the stage steps, carefully watching the changing expressions on his face; him holding still for a long moment, poker-faced, then breaking into a tired grin and starting toward the stage again—was halting. In the end, they met halfway.

In the aisle of the lecture hall where they had first met, the partners embraced. Neither one did the holding alone. They held each other. Together, they locked out the world, Brennan with her head buried in the crook of Booth's neck, Booth with his chin resting wearily on her shoulder. Her arms twined around his neck, his wrapped around her waist. To an outsider, both stances would have seemed possessive. Anybody trying to break them apart would have quickly realized that 'possessive' was a synonym for 'protective' in the Booth and Brennan partnership.

Finally, Booth lifted his head and smiled down at her teasingly. "Do you believe in fate?"

His words were an echo from their shared past. Her response was a direct line to their future: She kissed him.

Their lips pressed together softly, unhurried, brushing over each other with small, tender caresses designed to reassure and reacquaint, rather than arouse.

"Booth," she eventually murmured. "I haven't slept well in three weeks. Will you hold me tonight?"

His response was a sharp intake of breath. Brennan looked up and saw moisture glistening at the corner of his dark eyes.

"Why?" she asked, reaching up to cup his jaw in one hand.

"Because you're everything. And I'm the luckiest guy on the planet." He leaned down and grazed his lips across her cheek, lingering next to her ear. "I'm so sorry, Bones."

"We've both made mistakes unintentionally. Tonight was a metaphoric new beginning, according to Angela, anyway. Now take me to bed."

He chuckled, and she was glad to see the sadness lift from his gaze. "Technically, we're at Week 6, you know."

"That's something I would like to discuss tomorrow. But at the moment I'm exhausted and would like to go back to your apartment. It's closer than mine."

"How are we getting home if Hodgins drove me and Angela drove you?"

"We brought my car over earlier in the afternoon." Brennan extracted the keys from her pocket and held them out.

Booth considered them for a moment before speaking. "You drive."

When she gave him a startled glance, he smiled ruefully. "That song, Bones, _The Reason? _If you're going to change in small ways, then so am I."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was halfway asleep by the time they got home. As he drove, Booth watched her head nod forward repeatedly, only to be jerked back as she determinedly managed to stay conscious a few more minutes.

He parked her car beside his and turned to Brennan. "Will you indulge an alpha male desire?"

"What?"

"You're dead on your feet, Bones. Let me carry you upstairs. I know you'll say you're fully capable of walking or that I'll hurt my back, but—"

"Yes."

He blinked.

"I'm extremely tired. And, believe it or not, I do have a girly side, as you call it. Being carried off to bed is an occasional fantasy of mine. Your back can handle a short distance."

Booth mumbled under his breath in amazement as he got out of the car and went around to her side. He opened the door and slid his arms under her knees, scooping her up. "If I'd known before, I'd have done this more often."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed as he carried her into the apartment complex and onto the elevator, where they kissed softly for the brief moments it took to get to Booth's floor. It took a little bit of maneuvering to get the door to his place unlocked while he held her, but they managed. He nudged the door open with his hip, stepped inside, and nudged it shut. Brennan locked it for him.

He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.

"Hey, Bones. Why Romanian, by the way?"

"Although many people think it's Slavic, it's actually a romance language. And my saying 'I love you' was romantic. Get it?" She laughed at her own joke in that inimitable Brennan way.

Booth shook his head, smiled, and leaned down to kiss her. "You want a shirt to sleep in?"

"Too tired. Just need to pull off my shoes," she stifled a yawn and sat halfway up before Booth nudged her back down and removed her sandals.

"Get under the covers, Bones. I'll be right back."

Booth came back a minute later in old sweats and a T-shirt. She was lying in her usual spot, her hair spread out across the pillow, a sleepy smile on her face and her hand reaching out to invite him in. He crawled into bed beside her. She turned onto her side and he slid his arms around her waist. She wriggled back until her hips were locked against his and their feet tangled automatically. There was no pillow talk. Within minutes, both partners were sound asleep.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: For those who didn't Google it, **_**te iubesc **_**is Romanian. My first ever crush was a Romanian guy. Turned out to be a total jerk, but I still remember "I love you" in his language for some reason, even all these years later.**


	48. Twisting Teasing Temperance

**A/N: We're inching our way toward Week 6. Not quite there yet … Brennan has a bit of a twist to add to the experiment. Let me know what you think about that, please, or anything else that strikes your fancy. Thanks to everybody who continues to review and/or send lovely, detailed PMs telling me what they do and don't like about the story. Thanks also to Eternal Destiny 304 for her endless, meticulous betawork. I'm privileged to have gotten a sneak peek at the upcoming chapter for her fic **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_** and it is GOOD, let me tell you. It will be posted tonight, so watch for it. Read it. And review it, pretty please, so she'll hurry up and write more already! =)**

**One last shout out—I've only recently discovered M. Rig's stories, but they just blew me away. Flattened me to the floor. What a truly awesome writer. Maybe if you read her stuff and send a few nice reviews her way, she'll indulge me and add more stories to her collection. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The noise might as well have been a bomb going off, for the effect it had on the comatose Booth and Brennan. He lashed out at his alarm clock, smacking it repeatedly in an attempt to stop the ceaseless ringing. Brennan fell out of bed and staggered around trying to locate the source of the sound. Not knowing the layout of the room as well as her own, she kept tripping over things in the dark and cursing. Booth finally realized his attack had been misdirected and grabbed the cell phone, which he'd managed to knock onto the floor in his frenzied assault on the alarm.

"This better be good," he growled into the receiver, beckoning Brennan back to the bed.

The sleepy note in Booth's voice was blatantly obvious, especially to someone as hypersensitive to mood as Angela. _"Oh my God. Did I wake you guys up?"_

"What time is it?" he retorted, by way of reply.

Brennan sat down beside him, still looking very confused. Booth slid an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, yawning.

"_It's only like 10:00 pm—after you left the university at 5:00, I didn't think—God, I'm so sorry, Booth. I just needed to tell you guys that Cam and Cullen think you'll both be out of the office working on the case all day. So you can stay home and patch things up properly. Listen, go back to bed. I'm really sorry. Bye!"_

"Angela. Angela? Hello?" Booth flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the nightstand.

"What was that about?" asked Brennan.

"Cam and Cullen apparently think we'll be doing field work all day tomorrow."

"What?" She straightened. "Why?"

"It's a ruse, Bones. Probably engineered by Angela so we can stay home without taking more sick days," he explained patiently, even though his brain felt like scrambled eggs. Not the good kind, either. The reconstituted, powdery stuff with all sorts of chemicals in it.

"Call her back," Brennan ordered.

"It's not a bad idea. You were so tired last night that you insisted I drive. When does that ever happen?"

She handed him the cell phone. "Call her."

When he hesitated, she gave him a patented Brennan glare. "You know I don't believe in lying."

"Don't look at it as lying then," he suggested hopefully. "Think of it as taking a much-needed personal day."

"Cam and Cullen aren't stupid, Booth. They know we always check into the office before going out into the field."

"Exactly," he argued. "They're not stupid, and therefore they know that the best thing for their two star employees is a good day of rest after the last few sleepless weeks."

"If I wanted a day off, I'd take it."

He thought for a minute. "Tell you what, Bones. Give it until morning, okay? When the alarm goes off at 5:30, you can decide about whether you want to go into the office or not."

"I don't know if the alarm will actually work, after the way you laid into it." She nudged his shoulder, letting him know he'd won an argument for a change.

"Can't blame me. I was having beautiful dreams about this sexy redheaded squint in bed with me …" he trailed off with a teasing grin. "Oh, wait. That wasn't a dream."

Brennan rolled her eyes and stifled another yawn. "I don't know if I can go back to sleep after that."

He pressed her back into the pillows and she didn't fight him, reaching up instead to run her fingers across the planes of his face. Booth had watched her carefully outline bones with those same fingers, almost drawing their shape into her agile mind so she could better extrapolate data. The notion that, in some small way, she was doing the same thing with his face—essentially imprinting its shape for future purposes—was hot as hell.

She trailed her thumb across his lips, dodging his immediate attempt to suck the finger into his mouth, moving to follow the contour of his stubbled jaw in that same methodical manner.

"You know, studies have shown that facial hair is not only a biological marker of maturity, but is also a clear sociosexual signal. Women have been shown to be attracted to bearded individuals, possibly because facial hair boosts the apparent size of the lower jaw."

He pressed her hand flat against his cheek and raised an eyebrow. "So you like my five o'clock shadow because it makes my face look … wider?"

"Aggression would have been a desirable trait for early, warrior-centric societies that were dependent on physical prowess for survival." She freed her trapped hand and continued lightly outlining his features with her fingertips. "In evolutionary terms, a beard signaled aggression by emphasizing teeth as weapons."

Booth dropped his head and grazed said teeth across the soft flesh of her neck, hoping to distract her from the science lesson. He deliberately rubbed his cheek across her skin—gently, so as not abrade—and was rewarded with a definite moan of approval.

She arched slightly off the bed as he continued kissing and lightly biting his way down the tender column of her throat. "While I would not enjoy a full beard, I find the texture and friction of stubble very pleasant."

"Most women I've been with don't like it."

Her response was lighting fast. She knocked him flat onto the mattress, threw a leg over his hips and pinned him down before grabbing his lips in a bruising kiss that held little passion and a whole lot of jealousy. Booth let her lead the grinding, almost angry contact. When he was finally certain her own aggressive teeth would draw blood, she broke away, breathing heavily.

"While I realize that we've both had other romantic partners and my reaction is irrational, I would prefer not to be reminded of their former presence in your life. At least not while we're bed."

"Sorry," he said contritely, stroking her flushed cheeks. "That was stupid of me."

Booth wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a much softer kiss. He could feel the tension slowly seep away as her lips gradually softened under his. Just as she began to tug the hem of his shirt upward, Booth's stomach let out a loud growl.

"Do you ever stop thinking about food?"

"We skipped dinner," he said defensively. "A man's gotta eat, Bones."

Her warm hand lingered on the small gap of bare skin she'd exposed between the waistline of his sweats and his T-shirt. Booth would have given anything to forget about sustenance and allow Brennan to continue whatever she had in mind, but his digestive system decided for him. Another decisive growl made Brennan laugh and roll off of him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"What are you making?"

Booth looked over from the skillet where he was heating up some butter and almost dropped the spatula. Brennan had taken the 10 minutes or so that he'd left her in the bedroom to completely alter her look. Her hair was caught up in a messy, sexy bun, exposing that lovely throat that turned him on so much. Instead of the skirt and red blouse she'd worn to the university, one of Booth's old T-shirts now hugged her in all the right places, skimming her thighs invitingly, while leaving her toned calves bare. The large **Zeppelin **logo was right across her breasts, and she wasn't wearing a bra anymore, if the prominent protrusions beneath the first **e **and **l **were any indication.

Tiny auburn flyaways framed her face, softening the sharp lines of her chin and cheeks. Booth realized suddenly that she'd lost a fair amount of weight in the weeks they'd been apart, probably because she'd been so engrossed in work that she'd forgotten to eat. And nobody had been there to insist she remember.

He turned back to the stove, deciding he was going to remedy at least that right away. His fridge was practically empty, but there were enough staples to whip together a decent meal.

"Scrambled eggs. Real ones. French toast, maybe, but I don't know if I have any bread left. Look in the fridge for me, will ya?"

"It's 10:00 pm. Why are we eating eggs and French toast?" She looked in the fridge as directed and extracted a plastic-wrapped loaf.

"C'mon, Bones." He cracked multiple eggs into the frying pan and began whipping them with a fork. "You mean to tell me you've never had breakfast for dinner?"

"Why would I?" She peered at the bread. "You could start your own laboratory with this."

"Huh?" Booth glanced over and Brennan held up a green slice of what had once been white Wonderbread.

"Mold. Enough to make Hodgins very happy."

"No French toast then, I guess." He turned the heat down, determined that the eggs were beaten to the consistency he wanted, and began slowly stirring the mixture with a spatula. "Actually—check in the freezer. Didn't you stick one of Angela's homemade loaves in there one day?"

Angela had gone through a brief house-wifey period before deciding that one acceptable thing Hodgins' money could provide was someone to make the meals, so she could concentrate on her much-neglected artwork without worrying about her husband subsisting off frozen meals.

"You're right." Brennan extracted a very solid loaf of walnut bread from the depths of the freezer.

She unwrapped the loaf and put it into the microwave on defrost for 5 minutes. "After it has thawed somewhat, we can put it in the oven."

"Great, Bones." He continued stirring happily. "See if you can rustle up some cinnamon from the pantry."

Brennan crept up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, startling him.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, steadying the skillet. "Easy there, Bones. My floors aren't clean enough to eat off."

"My previous partners have only occasionally cooked for me." She kissed the nape of his neck. "And certainly never breakfast for dinner."

"Then they were idiots." He waved his spatula for emphasis. "Breakfast in bed, night or day, is where it's at, Bones—" He swallowed the rest of the sentence as she slid her hands under his shirt. "Ah … Bones … what …"

"Have I mentioned how much I enjoy your muscular definition?" she purred, pressing her fingertips into Booth's stomach in a way that made his abs contract in arousal.

"Cooking, Bones," he choked, stirring his eggs much more vigorously than was smart. They were going to turn out tough. "I'm cook—"

"I can see that." Brennan's hands slid upward over the broad expanse of his chest, drawing circles around his pecs.

Booth would have closed his eyes if he wasn't afraid of scorching their limited supply of unexpired eggs.

She trailed back downward, following the line of his waistband with alarming precision, dipping just beneath the fabric to trace the super-sensitive skin.

"_Bones_."

Deliberately, she pressed up against his back, rubbing her breasts through the thin fabric until he saw stars, all the while continuing her torturous play across his midsection. "Do you like this, _baby_?"

The eggs were done. Definitely done. Booth turned off the heat and spun around, trapping Brennan between the nearby countertop and his body. Not in the least disturbed by his aggression, she grinned up at him as he hauled her close and sealed her lips with his, his hands dropping to roam her back. He tugged the hem of her borrowed shirt up and spanned her naked, narrow waist with his large hands.

Brennan went still beneath his touch. "Wait."

Now Booth did close his eyes, in physical pain. It was so hard to know what she wanted sometimes.

"I want to date you, Booth."

He opened his eyes and looked down into her furrowed face through a fog of desire. "I want to date you, too, Bones." Removing his hands from her waist and letting the shirt fall back into place, he smoothed the curls back from her face. "Isn't that what we're doing already?"

"I mean, I want to create some dates for us." Brennan looked up at him, the emotions on her face nearly as naked as her skin had been against his hands a moment ago. "For you."

"Ah, Bones," Booth said in surprise. "You really don't have to do that."

"I want to," she insisted.

"Sure. Okay," he agreed, touched more than he'd care to admit.

"And I want to wait another week for Week 6. We skipped Week 5 completely."

"I can do that too." He rested his forehead against hers. "But you're going to have to stop feeling me up then, Bones. A guy can only take so much after missing his partner for weeks on end. Even if it was my fault entirely."

"I missed you too. And it wasn't all your fault." Brennan leaned up to brush her lips over his, smiling just a little. "Are you sure you can't lose the shirt, at least?"

He'd do anything for her. The guileless blue eyes, the teasing, trusting smile … yes, definitely anything. If she wanted a half-naked chef, he'd indulge her whim.

"Your clothes have to stay on though," he warned, stepping back from her.

"Deal."

Booth pulled the shirt over his head, discarding it on the kitchen counter. The immediate heat in Brennan's eyes was almost as arousing as her hands on him. Almost.

The microwave beeped and he turned to remove the bread. It had softened considerably. Unlike certain parts of his own anatomy. When he turned back to put the bread in the stove, Brennan's eyes were still on him, playing across the span of his chest lustfully.

"Geez, Bones," Booth said awkwardly, raking his hand through his hair. "You're looking at me like I'm a cut of prime steak or somethin'."

"Tofu," Brennan corrected, running the tip of her tongue over her full lips.

"You're evil," he reprimanded, putting the bread in the oven. "Now help me find some spices. I'm looking for chives, pepper, cinnamon and nutmeg. Ginger would be good too."

"Don't you have a spice rack?" she asked, momentarily putting aside her role as squint-temptress and joining him in scouring the cupboards.

"I don't cook enough. Probably should buy one though, if this is going to become a habit."

"Are we eating anything besides eggs and French toast?" Brennan dug through a particularly messy cabinet, unaware that her position—standing slightly on her tip-toes, back bent, was affording Booth a glorious view of her perfect backside and endless legs.

"Bacon." He tore his eyes away and continued searching, locating a vial of Madagascar vanilla that Brennan had brought over for some reason or another last year.

"The high fat and carbohydrate content should help us get back to sleep." She waved a jar of freeze-dried chives. "Can you fry the bacon in a different pan?"

"It's soy," Booth admitted sheepishly, setting an almost empty container of ginger down on the counter beside the nutmeg Brennan had unearthed.

"Since when do you eat soy?"

"I bought it several weeks back, thinking of something along these lines, believe it or not. Can't have breakfast for dinner without bacon, Bones. Even if it has to be fake."

"Booth."

He looked over at her, concerned at the sudden change in her tone. Brennan's gleaming eyes caught and held his in a way that made his chest tighten.

"I love you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I probably won't say it often," Brennan added hastily. "I hope you're aware of that."

"I get that, Bones." He laced his fingers through hers reassuringly. "That just means when you do say it, like right now, it means that much more."

He had the most beautiful smile. Warm, dark eyes that glinted with humor and tenderness. And that broad expanse of warm skin … Brennan leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bare center of his muscled chest. Booth enfolded her in his arms, and being able to see his biceps flexing made the experience even more pleasant than usual. She kissed his bare shoulder, enjoying his reflexive intake of breath.

"After we eat, I want to look at you."

Booth pulled back and frowned quizzically. "Huh?"

One thing Brennan had never been shy about was asking for what she wanted, sexually speaking.

"Men aren't the only ones who become aroused through visual stimulation." She grinned at Booth's automatic flush. "After breakfast dinner, I want to be allowed to look at your torso. Uninterrupted."

"Oh, baby." Booth groaned, covering his eyes for a second. "You're one dangerous squint."

She seized the opportunity. "And given that you used an endearment I dislike so strongly, I also want to be allowed to touch your upper body. Equally uninterrupted."

"That's my punishment, is it?" There was a dangerous glint in Booth's eyes that suggested he'd make Brennan pay for her torture shortly.

"Yes."

"Deal."

He pulled her close again and ruthlessly plundered her mouth with his tongue, leaving her breathless and longing before he let her go again and stepped smugly over to the stove, where he removed the now fully defrosted bread from the oven.

"Can I help?" Brennan asked as he began slicing thick cuts of bread onto a plate.

"Can you whip eggs into shape as well as you do the squints?" he grinned, handing her a bowl with some milk already in it.

Once she'd finished her chore, he directed her in seasoning the mixture.

"It doesn't have to be so exact, Bones," Booth noted, as she attempted to measure out precise ¼ teaspoons of vanilla and spices. "Just put in what feels right."

"That's what Carly said."

"Magic macaroni lady, right?"

"Right. She kept telling me that relaxation is a key ingredient in cooking, though it is not quantifiable, per say." Brennan slid the bowl over to him. "What's next?"

He added sugar to the mix and showed her how to dip the bread in until it was soaked, before frying it golden and putting the dish back in the oven with the scrambled eggs to keep them warm. The warm, sweet aroma was mouthwatering.

"Last but not least, bacon." Booth added about 8 slices to the pan and expertly fried them to a crisp.

"Easiest meal ever. Only a skillet and a bowl to wash. Not bad, huh?" He handed her a plate and dished up a healthy serving, dusting the eggs liberally with pepper and chives.

His alpha male pride at providing for his mate was endearing. The notion that she was, for all purposes, that mate, made Brennan's heart rate increase.

"Bones, Bones," Booth stopped her as she headed for the dining table. "Not there."

"Are we eating in the living room?"

"In bed." He placed a hand on the small of her spine and ushered her toward the bedroom. "Breakfast for dinner should be eaten in bed."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He held her plate as she settled herself against a large pile of pillows, then crawled in beside her with his own plate clutched in one hand and a jug of maple syrup in the other.

"I heard about this fancy restaurant in New York where people actually paid to eat on these giant canopy beds." He drowned his French toast in syrup and handed the jug over to her. "After every meal, the servers supposedly changed the sheets."

"I don't understand why someone would pay for an experience that can easily be had at home."

"Maybe so, but you've never had the experience," Booth pointed out. "Other people might be the same way."

"I didn't say I'd never eaten in bed. Just that former boyf—"

Booth stopped her with a light finger over her lips. "If I can't talk about former partners, neither can you. Not in bed."

Brennan nodded in acknowledgment and chewed slowly on a mouthful of toast. "This is excellent. Where did you learn to cook?"

"Pops had to go to work early, so I got good at throwing breakfast together for Jared and me," Booth explained. "He was really picky, so I had to come up with something or other he'd eat every day without complaining. The one day he refused to eat what I cooked, he fainted at school and I caught hell for days."

"I was lucky when Russ made sure we had milk and cereal in the house, if that."

"I had a stable home life with a grandfather who was paying all the bills," Booth reminded her gently.

"Nevertheless." She scooped up a forkful of eggs. "Jared was fortunate to have such a loving older brother."

Booth swiped a finger across the corner of her mouth, where syrup had collected, and brought it to his own mouth, smiling wickedly. "I've always said you were sweet on me, Dr. Brennan."

"Incorrigible," she mumbled around a big bite, but her smile took the sting off her words.

"Real bacon would have been _way _better," Booth said sadly, pushing the soy product around his plate. "You want mine?"

"You said Jared was picky?" Brennan answered in amusement, reaching over and helping herself to several slices. Booth speared her fork with his, causing her to raise her eyebrows questioningly.

He lifted a slice and held it out teasingly. "Bacon is classic finger food, Bones. Just like fried chicken."

Brennan's mouth wrapped around Booth's fingers without warning, creating a steady, heated suction as she slowly drew the bacon into her own mouth. She sat back with an impish grin as he yanked his hand away with an oath.

"I believe the appropriate metaphor is, 'Play with fire and get burned.'"

"Of course you'd know that one," Booth muttered half in amusement, half in irritation with himself. He should have known better than to tease the tease.

They munched companionably until Booth spoke again.

"Hey, Bones?"

"Mmmm?" she replied, indicating a full mouth.

He hated to kill their lighthearted moment, but the need to apologize was burning a hole in his gut. "I don't want to spoil the mood here, but I need to say something about what happened between us."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan put her fork down and looked at him warily. Booth set aside his plate and turned to focus on her intently.

"What I did was wrong, Bones. Way wrong. Storming into your office like that and laying all my issues on your desk without warning …" His voice was laden with remorse. "I said you could trust me, that I'd never leave, that I didn't want you to change. I broke all my promises." Booth's eyes took on an unnatural brightness as he visibly struggled to hold it together. "It's not nearly enough to make up for how I hurt you, but I'm sorry, Bones. Really, really sorry."

"I was confused," Brennan admitted. "And hurt, yes."

The memory was still too raw to revisit in greater detail.

"However, in the end, your honesty was ultimately good for our relationship. I've always known I'm not perfect, Booth. It was irrational to think you'd never find any flaws in me."

"Bones, that's not—"

"I know that you don't expect me to change in ways that are fundamental to my personality," she continued. "You're simply asking me to become more aware of others' feelings, including yours. I accept that." Brennan set her plate on the nightstand and placed her hand over his.

He wrapped his fingers around hers.

"I don't know that I deserved your anger about the magazine or Josie. As I've said before, those were naïve moments on my part, rather than intentional lapses in trust. But I should have trusted you about my father, Booth. I know you better than that. If it had been at all possible, you would have kept him from leaving. You were kind enough not to even mention him that day in the office, though my actions were unacceptable. I forgive you." She squeezed his hand. "If you'll forgive me."

"Bones, I forgave you about three seconds after you walked out of my apartment." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I just hope I can someday earn back your trust."

"I do trust you, Booth," she insisted. "I wasn't nervous while waiting for you at the university, because I knew you'd show up, based on empirical evidence. You've always shown up for me in the past. One mistake on your part does not erase five years of otherwise being wholly reliable."

"I know you don't believe in God, Bones, but I gotta tell you, there are days I feel like he made you just for me." Booth turned her palm over and kissed it warmly. "This is one of those days."

She shrugged off the comment. "Are you done with your breakfast?"

"Why?" he asked, even though he knew exactly where she was headed with this.

Brennan tapped his chest meaningfully. "You have a promise to keep. Stand up."

"I'm going to start calling you Dr. Evil, you know that?"

She ignored the pop-cultural reference. "Stand up," she repeated.

Booth obligingly got out of bed and stood uncertainly.

"Bones—"

"No interrupting," she warned, sliding forward to sit on the edge of the bed. She grabbed his waistband and pulled him in between her thighs, eliciting a groan.

For a moment, she simply sat like that, with him pressed against her in the most intimate of ways. Her scientific mind had a tendency, even with lovers, to catalogue all the musculature her partners displayed. She resolved in this situation to put aside science momentarily and concentrate on feeling.

Licking her lips with anticipation, she placed her palms on the skin just beneath his collarbone. Booth inhaled sharply as she drew her fingernails lightly across the broad expanse, deliberately circling his flat nipples in a bid to drive him insane. He flexed in response to the stimulation, causing the large, fan-shaped pectoralis muscle to contract beneath her hands. Brennan curled her fingers around his biceps, using them to brace herself as she leaned in to follow the same path with her open mouth.

"B-_Bones_."

"Shh." His skin was warm. Slightly salty. So_ smooth_. Brennan almost hummed in approval. It wasn't enough to simply press her lips to him. She had to lick. Nibble. And the erratic contractions of his diaphragm, directly under her mouth, were a further incentive to suckle, leaving dark microcontusions in her wake as she worked her way downward to the delineated ridges of his midsection. The notion that she was marking him, as he had her, only aroused her further. She dragged her teeth across his abs before darting her tongue into his navel.

"_Jesus!" _Booth would have jumped backwards if her thighs hadn't held him captive.

She glanced up and found his pupils fully dilated, devouring her in the same manner her mouth was feasting on his flesh.

"Have a little pity, Bones," he implored, panting. "How the hell am I supposed to wait for Week 6 when you've got me harder than the Rock of Gibraltar already?"

Booth had a tendency to beat around the bush absurdly, and wholly unnecessarily, when it came to sex. His blatant statement of the obvious was indicative of his level of arousal. Not that there was any hiding it, the way her legs were wrapped around his hips.

Brennan crooked her finger and beckoned him to lean down. As he lowered his head, she rose up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him with equal measures of passion and tenderness. Booth's considerable self-restraint gave way and he took control of the kiss almost immediately, grabbing her face to hold her still.

Her head may have been in his viselike grip, but that didn't impede her hands from roaming his back, clenching and unclenching on his deltoids as Booth proceeded to thoroughly, enjoyably, punish her for being a tease.

"I love you," he growled into her open mouth. "Even when you deliberately drive me crazy."

"Do you love me enough to wait for Week 6?" Brennan taunted,

"Fine. But you better be prepared to ante up some vacation time. We ain't leavin' the bed for a week. Maybe a month. Longer … oh, God, _Temperance_," Booth moaned as she pressed her chest into the solid wall of his pecs and enjoyed his hiss of despair.

He pulled back, slightly pop-eyed, and wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. "I've worked with you for five years. How have I missed this evil side of yours?"

"You always avoided discussing sex," Brennan replied mischievously. "It led me to think any sexual experiences with you would be … vanilla."

"Nothing wrong with vanilla. But it's a hell of a lot better spiked with rum …" Booth flattened her on the bed, resting his considerable weight on her for just a fraction of a second. When he moved to pull away, she protested, trying to drag him back down again.

"I like having you on top of me."

"I need a shower," Booth retorted, refusing to cave in to her puppy dog eyes. "A really cold one, thanks to a certain somebody."

He stalked away, unaware of how much she was enjoying the view from behind. His waistband had slid down … considerably during their foreplay.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

It took Booth a good 30 minutes to come down off the high she'd driven him onto. By the time he made his way back to the bedroom, toweling of his hair, he was certain she'd be sound asleep again. It was almost 2:00 in the morning after all, and neither of them was well-rested.

But there she was sitting up in bed. His bed. Reading some book from his shelf. Wearing his shirt. Smiling his smile—the open, unguarded expression of first love that only Booth was privileged enough to see, now that the walls had come crashing down between them.

Without a word, he discarded the towel and climbed over her to his side of the bed. She snapped off the light and turned into him, resting her head on his damp chest.

"Good book?" he asked, settling her more closely against him.

"Not as good as mine."

Booth stifled a chuckle. "Good night, Dr. Brennan. I love you. Always."

"Good night, Agent Booth. My feelings for you have not changed since I restated them in the kitchen."

On this night, sleep held no dark memories for either of them. Any reasonably intelligent creature of the night would have fled screaming at the notion of disturbing the peaceful slumber of two people wrapped in such a tight, possessive embrace.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Special thanks to Tashayar333 for fully immersing herself in my interactive fic experience, and for giving me great feedback and suggestions about how to up the ante in that department. Watch for your song suggestion in the next chapter or two, Marissa!**


	49. Domestic

**A/N: This chapter mutated into a behemoth 9000 worder, which, upon advisement, I split into two chapters. Hence, you get two updates in one night. Not bad, huh? =) As such, however, Brennan's first official 'date' has been pushed to 51. (Just an FYI for those awaiting it.). **

**HUGE thanks go out to Amilyn and Eternal Destiny 304 for their assistance in shaping this piece. You don't have to read it all in one sitting if you don't want to—read 49 and take a break, then read 50, maybe—but my two brilliant betas did, and were cheerful and extremely helpful while doing so. Eternal Destiny's latest chapter for **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology **_**is about ready to be posted, so watch for it! And, while you're at it, read some of Amilyn's stuff and ask her to write more already, would you, please? =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The alarm didn't go off. Booth opened his eyes, looked at the LCD display reading **9:37**,noticed Brennan's empty spot beside him, and cursed in realization.

He threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light streaming through the blinds. Clearly, she'd gotten up before 5:30, turned the alarm off so as not to disturb him, and snuck away.

"Shit," he said loudly.

"That's not a version of good morning I'm familiar with."

Brennan's voice drifted into the room, coupled with a suspicious, fragrant hint of … bacon? Booth kicked back the covers and made a beeline for the kitchen, discovering his partner pouring a cup of coffee.

"You thought I left," Brennan said smugly, holding out the cup tantalizingly and tugging it away when he reached out. "Didn't you."

Embarrassed, he reached again for the cup, only to find her playing a game of monkey in the middle, with his coffee as the monkey between them.

She was still clad in the Zeppelin tee that Booth would forever view as hers as of yesterday. It had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a teasingly bare, creamy swath of skin. She'd borrowed one of his belts, fitting the fabric more snugly to her body and turning it into a kind of improvised dress. Her hair tumbled in disarrayed curls down her back, screaming _rub me all over your skin. _

"I'm not the only one who has to learn a little trust," she pointed out archly, backing away as Booth stalked toward her.

He pounced, grabbing the coffee away in one smooth move, while hooking his fingers through the belt with his free hand and towing her in toward him. She didn't fight him as he pulled her into his thighs, his hand dropping to her firm backside to press her closer still. Any remaining trace of sleep disappeared as the length of his hard body made full contact with her ample curves.

Brennan smiled, reaching up for a kiss. "Good morning."

It was the sweetest form of torture to take a slow sip of coffee with her still tightly in his embrace, watching her eyes widen in aggravation while his lips paid homage to something other than her own sweet mouth.

"Asshole," she snapped, trying to twist away.

Booth set the coffee on the nearby counter and went for her neck with a warning growl. Brennan's resistance vanished instantly as his hot mouth made contact with her sensitive skin.

"Ohhh …"

"Hmmm," he retorted, enjoying his breakfast of sweet squint skin. The vibrations of his teasing hum caused her to moan, which caused him to hum again, which caused her to moan some more. Which caused him to chuckle darkly as he traced a fiery path across her throat, lingering in spots he'd quickly learned were hypersensitive. Like the pulse point right beside her jugular that he drew lazy circles on with the tip of his tongue before encompassing the spot with his entire mouth and sucking blood to the surface gently.

She squirmed closer, giving him free access to the exposed shoulder he'd been admiring. Booth caressed her back as he nudged her bra strap away and pressed his lips to the slight rise at the top of her shoulder blade. "What's this called in squint?"

"Acromion." Her voice was almost unrecognizable with desire. She tangled her hands in his hair, insisting that he increase the pressure of his mouth on her skin.

He swirled his tongue lazily across the spot, refusing to obey. "From the Greek _akros _for _highest_?"

"How did you know that?"

"I've been to the Acropolis, believe it or not." Booth smiled against her skin, knowing he would see disbelief in her eyes if he looked up. "I think this is my new favorite spot. After this, obviously." He grazed the hollow of her throat with his fingertip and followed up with a soft brush of his lips that made her sigh.

"Why?"

"It's a high bone." He lifted his head to grin at her charmingly. And you, Bones, make me very high. Get it? High Bones?"

She thumped his chest in reprimand. "That's even worse than my jokes."

"I like your jokes," Booth answered. "How 'bout a good morning kiss, Dr. High?"

In response, she wrapped herself around him like some kind of goddess of the early morning and kissed him until the world was spinning around them and Booth had to pull away in order to give the experiment some kind of chance at Week 6.

"Is that _real _bacon I smell?" he inquired hopefully, nosing around the kitchen without seeing the source of the delightful aroma.

She pointed toward the kitchen table, revealing a spread of fruit, pastries, eggs and definitely real bacon.

His excitement mutated into suspicion. "None of that was in the fridge." He turned to Bones. "Did you …"

His eyes traveled down her lovely legs to her sandal-clad feet, then back up to the belted shirt and bra strap. Almost like she'd …

"You did," he exclaimed. "You went out to the store looking like that!"

"Just the corner Quickie Mart," Brennan shrugged. "They had a surprisingly good selection of ready-made breakfast items."

"_Bones_!" He could just imagine the looks of early morning truckers at the convenience store, getting an eyeful of his insanely hot, barely-dressed partner. "You couldn't have thrown on the skirt and top you were wearing the other day?"

"I'm dressed decently. The guy at the register said I looked fine."

"I bet he did," Booth groaned, dragging his hand through his hair. "Did I mention you make me crazy?"

Brennan ignored what Booth she would probably have referred to as his 'alpha male territorial display.' "Food's getting cold. You better eat. Real bacon can't taste any better cold than it does hot. I was planning on waking you up with a taste of what you call 'finger food,' but you beat me to it …"

The image of her waking him up dangling a piece of real bacon over his lips, dressed like _that_ … Booth swallowed hard. Finding movement very uncomfortable suddenly, he stood awkwardly in the kitchen, eyes following the rhythmic sway of her hips as she sashayed out of the kitchen with her cup of coffee. Brennan's laughter told him she knew exactly where his brain had gone.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"So what are we doing today?"

Booth looked up from his mouthful of eggs and bacon. "Whatever we want." A thought struck him. "We could spend the day in bed."

Brennan frowned and crossed her arms. "I stayed home from work with the assumption that we would do something interesting. Or at least productive."

"C'mon, Bones," he said persuasively, "Hot scientist and FBI Agent lounge around all day half-naked. That's pretty close to one of my top fantasies."

She raised an eyebrow. "My top fantasies involve fewer clothes. And very little lounging."

His last bite of breakfast went down the wrong way and he spent a good few minutes choking while Brennan regarded him impatiently.

"I suggest housework," she said when he finally stopped coughing.

"Huh?"

"This place, Booth." She looked around. "You're usually better at housekeeping than the average male, but right now it's disgusting."

"First of all," Booth wiped his mouth and pushed back from the table. "I am not average. And second, I've been a little distracted lately."

Brennan raked him from head to toe with a single heated blue gaze, making him feel like he'd suddenly lost his boxers and sweats. "I would agree that you set the standard for male physicality. Among other things."

"Aw, Bones." He smiled . "You mean I'm not just a hunk of beef to you? What other things?"

"I'll tell you after we've cleaned this place up," she said firmly, standing up. "And mine. It's not as neat as I would like it to be. I've also been distracted of late."

Housework had definitely _not _been on his agenda of things to do with his day off. Booth made a resolution to hurry the process along so they could spend at least half the day doing other things.

"Okay, Bones," he agreed. "Housework it is."

They cleared the table together, with Booth deliberately lagging behind to watch as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Booth." Brennan looked over her shoulder and caught him in mid-ogle. Her gimlet smile was predatory. "If you're a hunk of beef … I'm tempted to become a carnivore again."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth followed Brennan around the apartment helplessly as she compiled a mental to-do list.

In this respect at least, Brennan mused, her partner was typically male. He was utterly unsure of where to begin putting order into domestic chaos, so he avoided the task.

Having assessed the situation, she propelled Booth into the living room.

"I want to make it clear that I am not Jenny Housemaker," she said emphatically, hands on her hips.

"Suzie Homemaker," Booth corrected. "And I don't recall ever asking you to become her."

That particular fear rose to the front, demanding that Brennan vocalize it immediately.

"That is perhaps something we should discuss, Booth. Your expectations of me as a romantic partner." She began picking up dirty dishes off the coffee table. "You have previously expressed fantasies of a traditional home life that I will never find personally fulfilling."

"Bones." Booth corralled her as she tried to escape to the kitchen. "My only expectation is that we're as honest with each other as we can be." He extracted the plates from her hands in spite of her protestations and set them back on the table, then put his hands on her shoulders.

"You've always been real clear about not having any interest in the housewife thing, Bones," he said quietly. "Emphasis on wife. I'd love to have you reconsider the whole marriage thing, sure. But I'll take what we've got either way and be more than happy with it."

"I'm concerned that you will one day regret watering down your dreams for me."

Booth squeezed her shoulders. "There's _nothing _watered down about you and me, Bones."

He pressed his lips to her insistently, until she lowered her guard and allowed him to kiss her in a way that made her stomach plummet. In some ways the kiss was a reflection of their relationship—a dichotomy of restraint and uninhibited passion, held together by a line of deep tenderness.

"I love you as you are." Booth's tone was fierce as he pulled back, not releasing his grip on her shoulders. "We've both got stuff we have to work on, but your core values are _not_ part of that picture, Temperance. Even if we ever did get married, you know I'd never expect you to stay home and raise babies. Give me a little more credit than that, at least."

"We're never going to get married, Booth," she said bluntly.

"I'd be lying if I said I don't hope that could possibly change," he answered. "But even if it doesn't, I'm not going anywhere. I'd rather be unmarried to you for the rest of my life, like we are right now, than married to someone else who isn't Temperance Brennan."

The sincerity in his voice made her eyes sting.

"All I want to do is be with you, Bones. To love you and know you love me. Someday, I really hope I can convince you to believe that's more than enough for me. It's not just enough. It's everything."

This time she kissed him, quickly and ferociously, before pulling away.

"I may not ever be Suzie Homemaker, but I will deploy my considerable organizational talents toward assisting you in cleaning up this mess. This once only."

She was grateful when Booth didn't insist she continue a conversation that was becoming far too intimate for her comfort level. He gave her a rakish grin instead, letting her completely off the hook. Confusingly, that only served to make her even more emotional.

She compartmentalized and turned her attention to the living room. "The dishes need to go into the sink. The rug needs to be vacuumed, and you should sweep underneath. The whole place needs to be dusted. Magazines and books should go on shelves, not all over the floor. And that couch …" she grimaced at the disaster-area futon. It was surrounded by empty bags of chips, beer cans, an exponential number of crumbs of unknown nature that Hodgins would have had a field day with … "Do something about it," she ordered. "I'm going to clean up the kitchen."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The sound of the vacuum being turned off let Brennan know he was done with the living room. She'd swept and mopped the floor and scrubbed off the counter tops and was just finishing up the mountain of dishes in the sink. When he came up behind her, slid his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, she also knew that he had every intention of trying to distract her. She put the last dish on the drain board and wriggled away, ignoring his sad eyes.

"Spice rack," she indicated, pointing at one of the purchases she'd made in the last 45 minutes.

It hung on a cabinet next to a sink and was neatly stocked with all the spices he'd been searching for the previous night, plus some new ones.

"Thanks, Bones." Booth's tone was marginally wary.

"I didn't rearrange your cupboards, don't worry," she reassured him. "You can do that yourself. However …" she opened the fridge. "I did restock your food supplies. Mostly, I held to your preferences of a meat, cholesterol and sodium-heavy diet, but I also purchased several healthier options."

He peered in at the selection of beer, 2% milk, orange juice, fresh eggs, butter, mayonnaise, bread, salad greens, tofu and …

"Steak!" Booth seized on the package of Porterhouse cuts of beef she'd reluctantly purchased. "T-bone steak!" He clapped his hands in glee. "I love you, Bones." He paused, eyeing her. "You went out dressed like that. Again."

"Do you have any clean sheets?" she asked, derailing his scolding.

"No. Why?"

"You need to do laundry. It's all over the bedroom. Strip the sheets and collect all the clothes that need washing, while I clean the dining room."

"The laundromat in the building is out of service," he told her. "If you want to wash clothes, we're going to have to go down the street."

"I have spare change," she answered. "One of _my _favorite fantasies, Agent Booth, is clean sheets. I enjoy sliding in between them after a hot shower, when I'm not wearing much of anything."

She smirked at the look on his face and left him to war with his self-restraint as she began to re-order the dining room.

The table was buried under piles of mail, which she stacked neatly on one end before tackling the layers of dirt. When she'd finished polishing, the dark wood gleamed satisfactorily. She paced herself efficiently, refilling the fruit bowl she'd given him several Christmases ago, dusting knickknacks on a makeshift mantelpiece, scooping up armloads of magazines and dumping them in a basket for Booth to go through at some point, putting Netflix DVDs back in red envelopes and adding them to the end of the table with all the mail.

Booth appeared in the doorway and whistled. "I can see my table again. Nice."

He had a huge army duffel bag tucked under his arm, overflowing with clothes and sheets.

"If we get your laundry done, your apartment should be back in relatively good shape," Brennan declared with satisfaction. "I'll be able to walk around barefoot again without cringing."

"Why just_ relatively_ good shape?" Booth asked cautiously.

"I'm not touching the bathroom," she informed him. "And if you expect me to visit again anytime soon, you'll address that situation yourself. Do you have any dry cleaning that needs to be done?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The woman deliberately set out to make him crazy. Of that, Booth had no doubt. He had no problem with her turning his place upside down—hell, it had needed it badly—but her wandering around the Qwik Klean Laundromat in nothing but his T-shirt was making his head ache. Mostly because of all the male customers whose own heads would definitely ache after the 360 degree turns they were doing at the sight of Brennan's long legs and barely-hidden full breasts.

She was oblivious, happily piling clothes into one machine, sheets into another, dousing everything liberally with detergent.

Seeing her hands all over his boxers was another kind of torture in and of itself. One he tried very hard to hide, knowing she'd use it as yet another reason to call him a prude. Week 6,Booth reminded himself, was just around the corner, and then that particular misguided notion of hers would be discarded _forever. _He smiled with a combination of satisfaction and anticipation.

"You know, Booth," Brennan said in her best _I'm about to give you an anthropological lesson_ voice, "Laundry holds a great deal of anthropological significance."

Booth glanced around at the men ogling his partner. Her fancy words only made them even more curious. He moved in closer to her, sending a clear signal that this squint was off the market. Anyone who chose to ignore what Brennan would probably have called his 'sociosexual' cue was looking for trouble.

"You've been in Afghanistan and Rwanda, so you should understand. Female status in tribal societies is frequently contingent on motherhood. Women seek magic cures to overcome barrenness, which is viewed as a curse. When children are conceived and borne, mothers and other females supervise the children." She slammed the lid of the first machine shut and set the timer, indicating for him to put the quarters in the slot.

He did so, wondering what, exactly, his dirty underwear and shirts had to do with his overseas missions.

"From a young age, the social roles of children are defined. Boys spend time with elder males, learning how to hunt, for example. Girls, on the other hand, are taught to cook, clean and do laundry. Because tribes often don't have access to fresh water, doing laundry becomes a communal activity with women walking for miles both ways to wash their clothes." Brennan closed the second machine and, again, nodded for him to start it. "Observing such rituals provided some of my most interesting early insights into cultural mores."

Booth still had no clue what she was talking about, and Brennan knew it, obviously. She gestured around them.

"Take a look at this place. The way it's laid out is typical, with all the washers lined up in one place, all the dryers in another. It's inconvenient and irrational, yet most Laundromats hold to the pattern, because it has become ingrained in the culture."

The Laundromat owner gave them a look that clearly said, "If it's inconvenient and irrational, take your business elsewhere," but Brennan continued blithely,

"Notice that the male patrons are generally either very young or much older. If they're young, they're here because they've left home and no longer have a female relative to care for them. Hence the confused care with which they attempt the process of laundry."

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth noticed a large jock, probably in his early twenties, puzzling over why his laundry had turned pink. A washed out Raiders' sweatshirt hinted at the problem the guy couldn't comprehend. Further down the line of machines, a kid probably no older than 19 was carefully reading each and every care label on his clothes before placing them in a washer.

"Older males, on the other hand," Brennan prattled on, "No longer fit into the conventional pattern of Western society. In developing countries, they would have a role as keepers of laws and traditions or would serve as role models for young males. In our culture, we've taken those roles from them and they are left somewhat adrift, in nursing homes or, here, doing laundry when their respective female partners can no longer do it for them."

Booth winced as an elderly man shuffled past them, pushing a laundry cart laden with clothes that had been washed so many times, they were now gray.

"Mostly, however, you will find women in Laundromats, perhaps with their families. And the way each does their laundry—folding it carefully as it emerges from the dryer, or lumping it all in one bag and waiting till they get home—is an insight into their personal mentality."

The large number of small children running around the place, getting cheerfully underfoot and being hollered at by frazzled mothers, only served to corroborate Brennan's lecture.

"Furthermore, in large cities, Laundromats become communal centers for socializing, barter and exchange." She pointed at the large bulletin board overflowing with Want ads, job advertisements, furniture sales, local menus, etc. "It's a modern version of the tribal watering hole."

The FBI Agent shook his head. She surprised him in so many ways. Insights she provided into facets of daily life he'd never taken the time to contemplate, so often contrasted with her complete lack of awareness of the world around her. How could anybody so observant be so simultaneously oblivious? And, for someone who thought fairly highly of herself in most respects, she had no idea of all the things that made her special in his eyes, far beyond her genius brain.

As she moved toward the dryer to extract an earlier load of sheets, Booth stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I love you," he said in her ear softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "You amaze me."

**o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Please proceed to Chapter 50 for the continuation of this two-for-one update. =) I'll be going out of town for a few days this week, so if I don't get around to posting again until next Monday, (don't panic, odds are high you'll have at least one more chapter before I leave town), these chapters should tide you over nicely.**


	50. Disturbance

**A/N: And, as promised, this is your second chapter update for the evening. It's a landmark chapter for me—50! Never thought my little fic would become so sprawling when I started it about 7 weeks back. Thanks to everybody who has emailed, PM-d, and/or reviewed with kind specifics, letting me know what does and doesn't work for you in the story. Your feedback means a lot to me and I always take into account when writing. (Ohanna, I hope I did justice to some of your suggestions in the following chapter. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Hey, Bones?" Booth called, as she rummaged around in her kitchen, putting away the groceries they'd purchased for her apartment.

"Yes?"

He scanned her apartment in hopes of figuring out what, exactly, she wanted him to organize and failed miserably. Everything seemed pretty neat to him.

"You said clean up in here. Uh … where exactly?"

Brennan poked her head in from the kitchen. "It's a mess, Booth. How can you not see?" Noting the blank expression on his face, she sighed and waved. "Dust. Straighten out the couch. Sweep. Pick up the magazines."

Booth moved toward the couch, thinking it was the only place that looked even remotely messy. Apparently, they'd both been spending a lot of time camped out in their living rooms lately. He smoothed the wrinkles in the fabric, sending a few meager crumbs onto the floor, fluffed up pillows and picked up a few crumpled pieces of paper. He was moving to throw them away, when his name on one of them caught his eye. Glancing over at the kitchen to make sure Brennan wasn't around, he unfolded the corner of the page and scanned it.

_Dear Booth,_

_I'm very sorry._

It was a draft of the letter she'd ultimately sent him, Booth realized. He debated reading the rest, but decided he couldn't violate her trust that way. He crumpled the paper back up and tossed it away, reminding himself to re-read his own letter once he got back to his place.

"Bones?"

"What?" she called in irritation.

"What do I dust with?"

"Oh, good grief. Clean the bathroom for me instead. All the supplies are in the cabinet and under the sink."

He didn't like the sound of that. Bones' bathroom was nowhere near as messy as his, but he was fairly certain it contained its share of girly surprises.

He was right. No sooner had he opened the cabinet than a pack of Tampax landed on him, followed by … _oh God. _Booth jumped backwards hastily, slamming into her laundry hamper and knocking it over. A cascade of lacy underwear spilled onto his lap, while the long, pink, thing leered at him from the floor where it had fallen, daring him to pick it up. Worse yet, it had started _vibrating _the minute it struck the floor.

Booth backed up against the tub, cursing a mile a minute.

Hearing the commotion, Brennan came to the bathroom door and stared in disbelief, before starting to laugh.

"It's a back exfoliator, Booth," she sighed, lifting the object that had so alarmed him from the floor.

Sheepishly, Booth picked himself up out of the bathtub where he'd landed, gingerly removing her cute little underwear from his lap.

"I keep my vibrator much closer at hand."

"_Bones!"_

She walked back down the hallway, giggling.

The lime green thong he was holding in his hands didn't help matters any. Booth stuffed everything back into the hamper and, beet-red, undoubtedly, returned to the cabinet to extract Tilex and some kind of organic shower spray that promised to keep mildew at bay.

Not that there was likely to ever be any mildew anywhere near Brennan's shower. The damn thing was about as pristine as a shower could get. If she didn't smell so damn good—and if there weren't half-empty bottles of stuff neatly stacked in a metal stand hanging over the shower head—Booth would wonder if she ever even _used _the thing.

A futuristic looking bottle labeled Korres Juniper and Rum Shower Gel sparked his curiosity. _Rum? In a shower gel? _With an eye on the bathroom door, he opened the bottle and sniffed at it, recognizing a trace of Brennan's light, spicy perfume. Interest piqued, he opened another bottle, this one seafoam green and clear with an outline of a tree branch on the exterior. _Juniper Breeze_. Again, he recognized just a hint of Brennan's alluring fragrance.

Booth lifted a third bottle. _How many body washes does one person need? _The cream and gold Moroccan Rose container was sweeter than the others, with a powerful cinnamon kick.

He forgot all about cleaning the bathroom and went to town, exploring her collection of exotic shampoos, face washes and sugar scrubs. All of them smelled delicious and were vaguely familiar, but none of them quite added up to the unique perfume he'd come to associate wholly with Brennan. Which meant some of that heady scent that perpetually lingered on her hair and skin was hers and hers alone. The image of her under the hot spray, washing herself with all sorts of sweet-smelling stuff, was one he hoped to experience firsthand very soon.

Grateful not to have been caught snooping, Booth returned the last bottle to its spot. He spritzed the walls and tub halfheartedly, scrubbed at imaginary specks of dirt and rinsed with a convenient bucket behind the toilet. That didn't need cleaning either, but he did as she asked and scrubbed it anyway, tossing in a blue tablet she said would help keep it clean.

After polishing the mirror and sink to a flawless shine, Booth backed out of Brennan's bathroom, quite sure he never wanted to spend so much time in it ever again.

He located Brennan in the bedroom, where she was putting clean sheets on her bed. Wordlessly, he grabbed a corner and helped her tuck it under, then caught the end of the comforter she sent him and, together, they spread the cover across the mattress. As soon as it was neatly in place, Booth crawled over and sent his unsuspecting partner tumbling to the mattress beneath him.

"Hey!" she protested. "We're not finished cleaning."

He pinned her down and tickled her until she was almost—almost, not quite—as beet red as he'd been when she'd walked into the bathroom, and definitely every bit as breathless. Ordinarily, she could have easily dislodged him, but he'd made sure to lever his weight in such a manner so that she couldn't Kung Fu him into the next galaxy.

"Stop, stop!" Brennan pleaded, gasping for air after so much laughing. Her face was a pretty, flushed shade of pink and her eyes sparkled.

Satisfied, he lowered himself on top of her, bracing himself carefully so as not to crush her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. The mysterious fragrance crashed in waves across his olfactory senses, making him dizzy with desire.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan had a long list of fantasies, very few of which Booth knew anything about yet. She had every intention of remedying that after Week 6. One of those fantasies was presently being fulfilled as her partner pressed her down into the mattress, albeit not completely. His corded arms framed her sides, holding his large bulk just above her smaller frame. Sometimes it was aggravating how careful he always was with her.

"I don't break, Booth," she said heatedly, hooking her legs around his lean hips and catching him off balance just enough that he collapsed on top of her. Momentarily, he knocked the breath out of her and that was fine. More than fine. The sensation of having every inch of his hard muscles pressed up against her skin would have made her breathless anyway.

When he immediately tried to roll away, she clung tenaciously. There was no way she was letting him go so quickly.

"Stay," she ordered, sliding her hands under his shirt.

His dark head dropped back to her shoulder with a muffled sigh.

Brennan wasted no time skimming across his muscled back to the rhomboids, between his scapulae.

"I think this is my favorite spot," she told him, echoing his words from earlier in the morning.

"Why?" he asked into her hair.

"In the vernacular, Angela would say it's because of these big, hard muscles." Brennan traced his shoulder blades. "I enjoy feeling them contract around me when we embrace."

Booth slid his arms around her waist, elevating her off the bed slightly. "Like this?"

"_Yes." _Brennan closed her eyes in bliss. "Tighter."

He complied with a slight chuckle.

"Tighter."

"Bones, I'll break your ribcage."

"_Tighter_."

They both heard the emotion in her voice, but Brennan was definitely the more surprised. Booth turned his head to look at her in concern and she refused to meet his eyes.

"Let me up." It was suddenly imperative that she escape.

He did as she asked, rolling away from her without question. Brennan climbed off the bed and headed for the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the edge of the tub breathing shallowly, struggling for control of the emotions that had hijacked her brain.

_This isn't me. I don't react to things this way. _

A soft knock on the door alerted her to Booth's continued presence in her apartment.

"I need space, Booth." The edge of panic in her voice was alien to her ears. "Please leave."

_This isn't me._

She heard his footsteps walking away and felt the burning in her lungs increase. The irrational, absurd sadness threatening to overwhelm her senses made her equal parts angry and scared.

_This isn't me. This isn't me. This isn't me._

She focused on her breathing, inhaling for a count of four, exhaling for six until she felt like the edge of panic had receded far enough that she wouldn't fall into the abyss. She washed her face, not looking in the mirror. Afraid of what she would see. Humiliation left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Temperance Brennan didn't fall to pieces for no reason.

Drying her hands on a towel, she opened the bathroom door.

She saw him immediately, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Waiting.

"I told you to leave," Brennan said angrily. "You need to respect my need for space, Booth."

"Is that really what you want, Temperance?" Booth's voice was flat. "You want me to walk out that apartment door and leave you alone to deal with whatever nightmare was just resurrected in your brain?"

"Yes."

The FBI Agent unfolded himself from the wall, but didn't approach her. Brennan hovered in the bathroom door, ready to lock herself away again if he took a step in her direction.

"Bones, I have no idea how to deal with this. I don't understand what just happened and you won't tell me, which seems pretty damn unfair." Tension shadowed his handsome features. "I want to give you what you need, but I'm having a really hard time figuring out what that is. So I'm going to ask again." His dark eyes held her as firmly as his arms had just a short while ago. "Do you really want me to leave?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Booth nodded curtly. "So long as you realize you're the one making me go. I'm not walking out willingly." His shoulders were rigid with tension as he turned to leave. "Call me when you're ready."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing to burn off some energy. As he neared the ground floor, Angela's words kept coming to mind.

_After six years of being a human yo-yo to her emotional weirdness, the string finally snapped. I get it._

He had no intention of snapping again. For all he knew, his actions several weeks back had played into the strange little scene that had just unfolded between them. One thing was for sure: Booth intended to give her enough space to breathe, but not enough to run away. If he saw her heading for the exit sign on their relationship, he was damn well going to tackle her and make her at least explain before escaping.

But in order to avoid snapping, he figured he needed some kind of outlet. As he neared the ground floor, he found himself wondering what that could be, other than working himself senseless at the gym again. Gordon Gordon was out of town, but maybe he could be persuaded to do a rap session online.

He pushed open the door and walked toward his car, pulling up short as he spotted Brennan standing in the shadow of the SUV. She approached him slowly, stopping a couple of feet away.

"You want me to explain, but I can't even explain it to myself." Her lips thinned to a frustrated white line. "I don't fall apart. Particularly not without good reason."

He wanted so badly to hold her, his arms reached out of their own volition. He stopped, completely unsure of what the right thing to do was. With a normal woman, he could have insisted she tell him what was the matter, murmured sweet nothings and rocked her in his arms until the storm passed. Brennan was anything but normal and pulling her into his arms uninvited was asking for an ass-kicking, both physically and emotionally.

"Tell me what you need, Bones. I'll give you anything. Just tell me."

"I want space. I need space. But as soon as you walked out the door, I wanted you to return. I'm confused, Booth."

_No kidding._

"That makes two of us," he answered. "Bones, I have no idea what to do here. If you want me to leave, I'll leave. If you want me to stay, I'll stay. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that we'll work through this just like we've worked through everything else. I'm not cutting and running on you ever again."

"Why?" Brennan cried out. "Why are you being nice to me when I'm acting like … like … this?" She waved her arms, unable to give a name to whatever was going on inside her head. "You shouldn't be nice to me, Booth. You should be angry!"

"I _am _angry," he snapped back. "I don't understand what the hell just went down. One minute we're hot and heavy, the next you're hiding in a bathroom I just cleaned! But just because I'm pissed off does not mean I'm leaving. Unless you want me to."

He took a step closer to her. "Do you want me to, Bones?"

She didn't answer.

He took another step, holding out his keys. "Do you want me to leave?"

No answer.

One more step, and now he was so close he could see the dilation of her eyes, the fear hiding just behind her cool gaze. "Should I stay or should I go, Bones? Tell me."

"Stay." The word whispered out of her.

_Thank you, God._

The tension in his muscles eased marginally. He still didn't know what to do but, miraculously, Brennan filled in the gaps for him.

"You said you'd hug me if I was afraid, Booth. It's humiliating to admit, but I'm afraid."

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

"C'mere, Bones." He opened his arms and she stepped into them. .

"I'm sorry." She shuddered against him.

"Shh." He kissed her hair.

Insistently, she pulled back to look into his face. "This isn't me, Booth. I don't do this—fall apart and expect somebody to put me back together. I've never acted like this in other romantic relationships."

"For the record, Bones," he said tensely, "I _hate _hearing about your 'other romantic relationships.' Okay? I hate it. And I'm no shrink, but I'm guessing none of your previous boyfriends ever got into things with you quite this … deep."

"Booth, I cared a great deal about Sully. Our relationship was important to me."

"Nevertheless, he didn't stick around long enough for you to get to the point where we are."

"What point is that?"

"Thinking about a future together."

A shadow crossed her face.

"Not marriage," he added hastily. "But actually thinking about being together for a long time. You and Sully were a day to day thing. You and me … " he didn't quite know how to finish the sentence. "Look, Bones," he sighed, "I'm a guy. I'm not good at talking through emotional crap like this. I generally just jump in and start waling away at things. This is way out of my depth."

"Then why don't you leave?" Her question was painfully sincere. "I realize it must be incredibly unpleasant to try and initiate a relationship with someone who is displaying as many irrational emotional tendencies as I am lately. There are other women who –"

Even Brennan could read the warning in his eyes and stopped talking.

"There are _no other_ women for me, Bones." He took a deep breath to get hold of his own turbulent emotions. "I tried that route. It didn't work. I want you just like you are, all messed up and inside out and weird and squinty and making me insane on a regular basis."

"Why?"

Booth gritted his teeth. "Because one day we're going to get past all this, and it'll be worth it. That's all I can tell you, Bones. Okay?"

"I felt safe," Brennan blurted.

_Jesus! Sometimes holding a conversation with her was like playing Whack-a-Mole!_ He never knew where the next tangent was going to pop up next, and she hadn't shown him the magic squint trick yet for knowing in what spot to wield the mallet.

"Huh?" 

"I don't require physical protection, Booth," she said coolly. "I can take care of myself."

_Grant me patience … _

"Little lost here, Bones. You wanna maybe explain?"

"On the bed with your arms wrapped around me … my reaction was more than purely physical enjoyment." She shifted in his arms, puzzlement drifting across her face. "It's a juvenile sentiment but … I felt safe. The sensation both surprised and alarmed me."

"So you wigged out because you felt safe and you don't want to feel safe? You don't want to _need _to feel safe?"

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up with relief. "I don't want to need to feel safe."

Booth stifled a groan. _She_ was happy, at least. "I'm not quite sure how to help you with that one. Any suggestions?"

"Stay," she requested. "That's the only suggestion that comes to mind."

Booth kissed her forehead. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Is that a yes?" she asked hesitantly.

He grinned. "That's a _hell, yes_, Dr. Brennan."

She pressed her lips to his softly. "I'm sorry."

"You're worth all the sweat." He tucked her hair back behind her ears.

"I have one more thing to say about previous relationships."

Booth grimaced. "Yeah?"

"Sully and I had an enjoyable relationship. He was a good man and when he left I was … sad."

The lingering grief in her eyes made him want to track down his distant friend and disembowel him. "I always thought Sully was a smart guy, until he chose that boat over you."

"It was his dream," Brennan protested.

"Bones," he said as patiently as he could, "A boat isn't a dream. It doesn't have a heart you can listen to if you lay your head on their chest. It doesn't keep you awake at night snoring. It doesn't argue with you about stewed fruit. It doesn't hire a helicopter to pull you off a sinking ship right before it blows up."

"What's your dream?" she asked so uncertainly that Booth wanted to nail Sully to a wall for helping to cement that doubt in place. Safety by definition, for Brennan, was not safe. Every time she started to feel secure, things had a tendency to happen in her life that left her reeling. Sully's departure was just one more layer, on top of her parents and Russ leaving, that Booth now had to tear down between them. But helping her work through those fears was worth it.

"My dream?" he repeated softly. "My dream is waking up with you beside me, having breakfast, arguing, solving murders together, slow dancing, doing laundry, going undercover as circus acts, discovering all your girly bathroom crap, escaping psychotic geese, seeing your hair all damp as you step out of the shower, taking my son to an amusement park and realizing he thinks you're cooler than me, watching you wander around town in one of my shirts, seeing the incredible work you do at the Jeffersonian, necking every other place … just living life day to day, with all its ups and downs, sometimes barely surviving, but hanging in. Together."

He took her face in his hands and leaned in so she couldn't miss a single syllable as he spoke succinctly. "You're the dream, Temperance. Not some yacht that'll wind up rusting at the bottom of an ocean one day. Sully's an idiot."

She smiled crookedly. "I've slowly become aware that I'm glad I didn't go with him."

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph._

Booth yanked her close and caught her lips, trying to physically show her what he completely lacked words to convey. The kiss was vaguely salty, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the couple of tears in her eyes, or possibly a tear or three he didn't know he had in his. Their tongues slid alongside each other sinuously, touching, retreating, circling one another with slick, wet heat until the initial intensity dissipated and was replaced with tender, soft brushes of their barely parted lips.

Brennan's hands kneaded the tense muscles on the side of Booth's neck firmly, never breaking their embrace. He arched his back into her fingertips. "God that feels good, Bones. You are _so _good," he groaned. "You're so worth it. Don't ever question that. You're worth every confusing minute."

"I'll give you a massage," she offered, "After we finish cleaning my apartment."

"Have I mentioned recently that I love you?" Booth looped an arm around her waist possessively and guided her back inside the complex.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

It didn't take too long to straighten up the bedroom and dining room to Brennan standards. Unfortunately, Booth's massage was put on hold until her laundry was complete. She apparently considered that part of housecleaning.

"What are you doing?" he asked, following Brennan into the bathroom as she began filling the bucket beside the tub with water.

"Certain things have to be handwashed," she explained, pouring Woolite into the water and swishing it around until it sudsed up nicely. "That's why I keep the hamper in here."

She opened the hamper and extracted a handful of the lacy underwear he'd been covered in earlier.

"Help me untangle these," she ordered, holding out several enmeshed pieces.

_I am not a prude, I am not a prude, I am not a prude._

Booth gingerly took the undergarments and began to carefully unwind them. He tried very hard not to envision her wearing the black thong. Or its matching bra. Or the red thing that looked somewhat like panties, but which didn't have enough satiny fabric to cover … anything.

"Uh, Bones?" he inquired delicately, as she immersed the underwear he'd untangled into the bucket and handed him another bunch. Lime green lace. Sheer blue bikinis. Purple, girly looking boxers. _Boxers? _"Are you, um, planning on wearing any of these for Week 6?"

"Not for very long."

He looked up and found her smirking at him.

"In all likelihood, Angela will insist on accompanying me to find an appropriate outfit. She enjoys lingerie shopping."

Booth almost swallowed his tongue at the visual of Brennan and Angela cavorting through piles of sexy nothings, undoubtedly using the opportunity to discuss … everything.

"If you're uncomfortable with the idea of Angela knowing what I'll be wearing the first time we have intercourse, you could always come shopping with me instead," Brennan suggested casually. "In the past, I've found that some men—"

"STOP!" Booth bellowed. "I don't need to imagine you shopping for underwear with your former lovers!"

Brennan wasn't one to be put off easily. "I receive catalogues in the mail. There would be no embarrassment to you. We could make a date of selecting my outfit. I would appreciate input into what you find stimulating."

His overtaxed brain sizzled and steamed.

He picked himself up carefully from the floor where he'd been sorting laundry and handed it over to Brennan before leaving the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster after _that _conversation.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan smiled to herself and finished up rinsing out her last bra. She usually wouldn't have washed them all at once, but she hadn't done laundry properly for several weeks. Plus, she enjoyed teasing her partner.

She hung the bra up over the shower rod to dry and went in search of her partner. He was hovering in the dining room, flipping distractedly through an anthropological journal that she knew he'd find incomprehensible.

Brennan snuck up behind him and draped herself across his broad back, winding her arms around his neck. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Hello."

"Hi." Booth gave her a mouthwatering grin, followed up by a sweet kiss that told her he wasn't too aggravated.

"Just regular laundry left to do now," she said hopefully, unsure of why, exactly, she wanted him to tag along while she did her regular chores. It wasn't like she in any way required his assistance. "And then I can give you that massage."

"No thongs?"

"None."

"Bikinis?"

"No."

"Freaky looking boxers?"

"One or two, maybe," she teased, taking him by the hand and leading him toward her laundry room.

He helped her sort the clothes into whites and darks, before leaving the room to retrieve a couple of beers for them from the fridge. She had just started the first load when she turned around and found him in the doorway holding their beers, watching.

"What?" she asked, smoothing the fabric of his T-shirt.

His eyes tracked the motion of her hands. Wordlessly, he moved forward and set the beers on the dryer. Then he caught her around the waist and lifted her onto the washing machine.

"What I find _stimulating_, Dr. Brennan, is the idea of you not wearing any of that cute little underwear now hanging all over your shower." He undressed her with his eyes, taking in every inch of her from head to toe, until Brennan's skin tingled at the latent promise. "Clothes aren't part of my fantasies for Week 6. You completely naked is much more up my alley."

His words weren't anymore erotic than anything she'd heard from old lovers, but, coming from her restrained partner, they had an astonishing effect on Brennan. Her entire nervous system erupted, every last synapse firing in a demand for immediate attention by Booth's very talented mouth.

"Booth." His name was husky on her lips.

"Tell me what you need."

"Kiss me." It was more a plea than a command.

The lazy smile that drifted across his lips made her shiver. He stood there, smiling, not touching her, not saying anything. His inaction was making her almost as crazy as his lips had made her earlier.

Oh, he was paying her back for her torment. And she could do nothing about it, perched as she was on the machine, with Booth's broad frame blocking the exit.

"Tell me again," he said softly.

"Kiss me."

He trailed a hand up her bare leg, tickling the sensitive skin at the back of her calf. And she had no way to squirm away.

"Again."

"Kiss me."

He braced a hand on either side of her and leaned in, stopping just shy of her lips.

"Again."

The damn machine started to vibrate, sending Brennan's senses into a tailspin equivalent to the spin cycle her clothes were enduring. She could have just grabbed his collar and pulled him in, but this was such a new side of him … part of her didn't want it to end.

"Kiss me."

"If that's what you need," Booth whispered darkly, dropping his head to skim her lips lightly in a parody of the deep contact she craved. His hands remained at her side. He toyed with her, brushing his lips back and forth across her mouth, refusing to hold still long enough for her to deepen the kiss, just barely teasing her with the promise of more by nipping at her lower lip before retreating.

"_Booth_."

"Tell me what you need."

He was going to pay for this, definitely, but, God, this new side of him was sexy. Brennan clung to his shoulders and scooted in as close as she could to his hard thighs.

"Kiss me harder."

"Sure, baby." He moved in again, grinding his lips against hers fiercely before darting away from her grasping hands.

"_Booth!"_ He'd barely touched her and she was going out of her mind. Steam was practically seeping from her pores.

"Tell me what you need."

"I want your hands on me. Your mouth on mine. With tongue, dammit!"

"First you have to tell me something."

"What? What?"

"Did Sully ever kiss you like this?" Booth wrapped his arms around her and jerked her into the hard wall of his chest, dropping his mouth to hers simultaneously. There was nothing tender about the way he took her lips, took her breath, took her sense of balance, all completely away.

"Well? Did he?" Booth backed away again as she scrambled to hold onto him.

"No!" Nothing Sully had ever done with her in bed compared to the flames Seeley Booth was causing to erupt across her skin.

"What about Hacker, Bones? Did he kiss you and make you crazy?"

"No. No, Booth, no. Hacker couldn't k—"

"What about David?"

He was jealous. She'd made him jealous with all her blather about past relationships, and this was the result.

"No."

She knew what was coming next, saw the glint of pain in his eyes before he spoke again.

"Did Jared kiss you like I kiss you, Temperance?"

"No." Brennan grabbed Booth's belt and pulled him close. His eyes were shadowed in a way that frightened her. He was always open. She was the one who played games. This wasn't right. She searched for some way to alleviate the hurt she knew she'd caused him with that stupid, brief fling. Hurt he'd avoided showing her the depths of until today.

"Jared kissed me," she said slowly, "And all I could wonder was what it would be like with you."

Booth looked away and she grabbed his face, turning it toward hers. "I was with him for five minutes, Booth. It was a mistake. He was never my partner. He was never my friend."

"And what am I, Bones?"

For a change, he was the one needing reassurance. She didn't know how to give it to him. That wasn't her strength. He put his life on the line for her every single day, and she couldn't find the words to tell him what that meant. What he meant.

The words wouldn't come. It wasn't in her to speak them, not yet, if ever, but maybe he could read them in her eyes. Fearing that her naïve, emotional offering would be rejected, she reached out in a way she never before had to any other human being. Wordlessly, she lifted the pendant he'd carved for her, the one she wore almost daily around her neck.

_My heart._

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Yes, I'll be out of town a couple days. However, if you're nice and drop me a line or three to let me know what you thought of the above chapter, I might be persuaded to track down an internet connection in the middle of nowhere, in order to update the story for you before next Monday. Not like that's blackmail or anything, right? =)**


	51. What am I?

**A/N: As promised, one last chapter before I vanish for a few days. =)**

**Remember, Brennan isn't nearly as overtly romantic as Booth. If this date seems a little … bland … give her a chance. She's got that steep learning curve and will definitely figure things out by Date 2 or 3. =)**

**Many thanks to Amilyn and Eternal Destiny 304 for their beta work on this piece. The content area was way out of my depth and it was tough to write. They worked miracles in helping me produce something coherent and, hopefully, interesting.**

**I'm out of town Thursday through Tuesday. I'll definitely be writing while away, but I don't know what kind of internet access I'll have. Enjoy this update, and know that you should have one by next Tuesday evening, if not sooner.**

**I recommend Amilyn, Eternal Destiny 304, Skole Bone and M. Rig as fantastic authors to read while I'm away. (And also when I'm not. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She held his heart in her hands.

_It took him months to carve the pendant. Hours spent finding an exact, anatomical sketch that could feasibly be reproduced in miniature fashion. Days on_ _drafts_ _that he cast aside as imperfect. A full week choosing the right wood, discarding common pine, basswood, butternut and walnut, before deciding upon sustainably harvested mahogany. _

_His ultimate selection suited his partner in more ways than one. The dense grain made mahogany more difficult to carve than, say, everyday aspen, from which all sorts of low end goods were manufactured. Temperance Brennan was not every day or low end. Nor would she easily allow herself to be shaped by outside forces. _

_When he finally started carving, the hard wood did not yield effortlessly. Even as he painstakingly chiseled away thin shavings, he was aware that the core material remained mahogany, albeit shaped by a fine blade. Her inner core would not change, nor would the material he carved her gift from. _

_The wooden heart held physical traces of his sweat. His blood. Traces of his tears, from the day he'd offered her everything and had his own very human heart splintered by her clumsy blade. _

When Brennan held the heart out to him wordlessly, Booth knew everything the wooden pendant represented. Everything that had been between them. Everything that could yet, _would _yet, be.

Her eyes watched his apprehensively as Booth caught her by the waist and lifted her off the washer. Her feet touched the tile floor and she automatically put out a hand to steady herself. With her hand on his shoulder, he knelt and pressed his lips to the fabric directly beneath her right breast. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek there, in the place where her heart beat a living tattoo under her ribcage.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan was well aware that Seeley Booth knelt before no one other than the God he believed in so strongly. To see him on his knees before her now, his dark head resting above her heart, sent a nameless emotion through her. Yet again, something had shifted between them. She couldn't name it, but the moment felt right.

Brennan cradled his head in her hands and ran her fingers through the dark strands, trying to find words and failing miserably.

Her partner looked up at her. "I can hear the gears going in your brain, Bones." His smile was an improbable combination of tender and roguish. "You don't have to say anything."

"Iubirea mea." She lowered her own head and kissed him, trading her breath for his, her disbelief for his belief, not in God, but in them.

"Hey, uh, Bones?" he murmured eventually. "You're gonna tell me what that means, right?"

He alone brought out the playful side Brennan had long thought deceased. She smiled mischievously.

"You'll figure it out."

"Anybody ever told you you're a tease?" he asked wryly, softening the dig with a gentle kiss.

"Nobody except you." Brennan smiled. "My clothes have finished washing. As soon as they've dried, I have an idea for a date."

Booth got to his feet, wincing slightly. "I really hope it involves that massage you promised earlier."

"I'll give you the massage when we get back. My idea has a time limit." She glanced at her watch. "It's 3:00. We've only got about 3 hours left before closing time."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"So, what's this date?" Booth asked curiously, as they folded and stacked the last towel in the linen closet. "Or is it a surprise?"

"I'd like it to be," she admitted, closing the closet and leaning back against it, "But I'm not practiced in planning dates, so it would probably be better if I told you first, in case you don't like the idea."

He could have given her the "I'll like anything you plan" line, but knew better.

"Does it involve a museum? 'Cause you know, Bones, don't get me wrong, I like them and all, but we kind of spend all day in one …"

"The date would not be in a museum."

"Science?"

"No."

"Tribal music? Warm beer? Soy burgers?"

"No, no, no." Brennan shook her head. "I'm inexperienced, Booth, not unintelligent. I'm aware that you don't enjoy any of those things."

He gave it one last shot. "Will it require me knowing any language other than English?"

"Yes." She grinned at the look on his face. "It's a language you speak fluently, Booth. In fact, you'll need to translate for me."

She headed toward the front door and he followed in her wake, puzzling.

"Bones, I only speak one language. How am I going to translate anything for you?"

Brennan glanced over her shoulder. "I think this is the point where you would usually be saying, 'Bones, just trust me.'"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She drove. She had to, since he had no idea where they were going. At the red light near their turn off, Brennan looked over and hid a smile at the baffled look of frustration on Booth's face.

"I know nothing about this topic," she reminded him. "You will need to serve as my guide."

"Something you don't know _anything _about?" Booth repeated. "Does that even exist?"

"You're always telling me I don't know anything about sports or music"

"So the date involves one of those?"

"No."

"You don't really understand the concept of a hint," he complained. "A hint is supposed to give me some kind of a clue about what's coming down the pipe. Foreign languages and something you know nothing about don't qualify."

The light turned green and she accelerated into the right hand lane, turning onto G Street. With Booth still spluttering and muttering in the passenger seat, Brennan pulled into the parking lot of Mark's Casa Mitsubishi.

Her partner stopped complaining and looked out the window in confusion. "We're going on a date to a car dealership?"

She was suddenly nervous. What if he really didn't like the idea, or, even worse, found it self-serving?

"Booth," she began, "Driving a rental isn't convenient or cost-effective. I need a new car, to replace the one stolen at Dad's place. You know much more about vehicles and mechanics than I do, and you've mentioned in the past that you derive enjoyment from restoring old cars. I would like you to help me select an appropriate … ride." When he didn't say anything, she continued on, aware she was now rambling nervously, "I realize that generally such purchases can be researched online and through Kelly Blue Book, as well as sales. However, my time is limited and I have no financial constraints. I would prefer to simply purchase a car, without spending days deal shopping. My budget is quite high and is certainly more than you could usually spend on a vehicle. I had hoped that you would, perhaps, enjoy the task—"

A slow grin started across Booth's face, the kind that did strange thing to Brennan's stomach.

"You're telling me I basically have a blank check to buy you a car."

"That's correct."

Booth leaned over and kissed her. "And you wonder why I love you?" He rubbed his hands together. "Hand over the car keys, Bones. This is _not _where we're going to start our search for your new wheels."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Two chocolate malts, an apple pie slice, a double cheeseburger and a soy burger later, Booth and Brennan holed up in the corner of The Royal Diner to talk strategy.

Booth wielded a pen with one hand, while with the other he forked up big bites of pie. He drew a vertical line down a notebook page, leaving approximately a two inch margin on the right. In that space, he listed a series of vehicle categories, ranging from compacts, coupes and minivans to luxury sedan.

"All right, Bones," he declared. "Here we go. First question: How many miles a year do you think you're going to drive this car?"

She chewed a fry dipped in Ranch Dressing while considering. "I had my last vehicle six years and, when it was stolen, it had approximately 80,000 miles on it. So, maybe, 13,000 miles a year, conservatively speaking?"

"You drive a lot for work, and the average person drives 15,000." Booth scribbled down a number. "Let's say 20,000, to be safe. How many hours, per day, do you think you'll spend in the vehicle?"

"That depends on an enormous variety of factors," she protested. "I can't possibly give you an accurate response without analyzing some data first."

He stole a fry. "Just guess, Bones. Take into account your morning and evening commute, plus however many hours a day you're out of the lab."

"I'm usually with you and you're the one driving!"

"That could change if we get you a car that I don't think will roll over if somebody sneezes," Booth retorted. "Fine. We'll say 2.5 hours a day."

"That's wildly inacc—"

"What type of driving are you going to use this car for? Mostly city? Off-road? Highway?"

"Mostly highway and city driving, I believe, although I've gone off-road in the past on some domestic digs."

"So, say, 60% city, 30% highway, 10% off-road?"

"I can't agree with such arbitrary calculations," she complained, retaliating for his fry theft by stealing the pickle from his burger. "I thought this date would be more spontaneous, Booth."

"Bones, a car isn't just a car. It's more than a vehicle to get you from Point A to Point B. You're going to be spending a lot of time in it, and it has to be the right fit. It has to feel like a second home."

"My last car didn't."

"Because I didn't help you pick it out." He winked and grabbed another fry, dodging the fork she tried to spear him with playfully. "When you think about it, Bones, I'm probably going to be spending a lot of time in your car. So it's in my best interests to be thorough. Now, based on this information …" he glanced down at his notes, "I'd say you're looking at a hatchback. Maybe a small SUV."

"I was expecting something more … exciting," Brennan admitted sheepishly.

"You're not gonna show up to a dig in a Corvette," he pointed out, eyebrow raised. "You need something you can carry all your gear in. Four wheel drive wouldn't be bad, given the terrain on some of those digs. You could always get a second car."

"My reasoning was flawed." She shook her head. "You're right about my needs. Thank you."

He was rarely right about anything when it came to Brennan, but, for some reason, the thought that he'd won an argument for a change didn't make him particularly happy. She looked really disappointed, and he didn't quite know how to put things right. She'd come to him for help, anticipating he'd go all muscle car manly, it seemed, but, dammit, this was Bones! She needed—_he _needed—her to have a reliable car, first, and if it had all kinds of bells and whistles, fine, but that was secondary.

"You also have to have some kind of a price range, Bones. You can't go onto a lot without a fixed number in your head, or the salesguys will run all over you."

"Is $45,000 an appropriate limit?" She slurped at the remains of her malt.

"Man, somedays I wish I was you," Booth sighed, scribbling down her answer. "On the lot, I'll do the talking. But if anybody asks you specifically, you say $35,000. Got it?"

Brennan nodded.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

If only to herself, Brennan had to admit she found Booth's take charge attitude at each dealership very arousing. His ability to read people came roaring to the forefront, and he called each salesperson on their bullshit before they could even begin to hit the ground running. She listened and learned as he interrogated this entirely new kind of suspect both on the lot and through multiple test drives:

"The luggage rack, is it a dealer-installed option? Is the spare a full-size tire? What's the MSRP? Does the trunk have a safety lock on the inside? Is this coil going to decrease the acceleration? These brakes catch. This manual transmission won't shift out of gear. Is there a second fuel filter? Where are the airbags? What's with the shocks on this thing? The chassis is squeaking. Sell it to another sucker. Tell me about your extended service contract."

While yet another frazzled salesman scurried away to retrieve answers to questions he hadn't been prepared for, Brennan tapped Booth's shoulder casually. He looked over at her, friendly, as always, but clearly tense. It occurred to her that this might also be some kind of anthropological ritual—procuring transportation for one's mate.

"What's up, Bones?"

"You're speaking your own version of squint." She trailed her hand up his arm and was rewarded with a more relaxed grin. "Perhaps you could teach me some of the technical terminology at some point? I would like to attend one of those vintage car shows you've told me about."

The car salesman was seriously hoping to get some kind of a sale out of this nightmarish, but obviously wealthy, couple, so he hovered patiently nearby, trying not to stare as they launched a mini-make out session in the middle of the lot.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

In the end, he indulged both their whims. She got the hybrid feature she'd yammered on about across 7 dealerships, and he made sure it was an SUV with at least a 2.5 liter inline 4-cylinder gas model with AWD and all manner of safety features designed to keep his partner in one piece if the thing ever flipped, rolled, jumped a ditch, forded a stream, had to outrun a pack of Gormogon wannabes, etc.

As Brennan signed the final papers, Booth gave the salesman a warning look about upselling anything he hadn't discussed with the guy personally, and wandered out onto the lot to have one last look around. Brennan found him 30 minutes later, drooling over a 1969 Corvette Sting Ray in the far corner of the lot.

"Look at this!" Booth exclaimed, grabbing Brennan's arms.

"What?"

"Bones, Bones," he ran his fingers over the bright cherry red body that somebody had polished to a flawless shine, "This car is _legendary. _It might be the most famous car ever produced! It defined American muscle in the 60s. I mean, _look," _he all but gushed, "At this classic split rear window! Not to mention the split rear suspension! Is this … no way …" Booth turned to the salesguy behind Brennan. "Can you pop the hood?"

A minute later, he was neck deep in the workings of the vehicle, while Brennan waited patiently. "Oh, man_. _Aluminum engine blocks and cylinder heads … holy shit." He looked up in awe. "Is this a ZL1 engine?"

When the guy nodded with a knowing grin, Booth about climbed through the window of the car and drove it away without paying.

"What?" Brennan demanded, as her partner crowed and ranted in technical speak. "What's so exciting?"

"Bones, there were only a handful of this model with that engine ever made. A handful sold to rich gazillionaires, maybe a couple hundred went to racing teams, but otherwise …" he whistled, "This is like finding your missing link between man and monkey." He turned to the salesguy with a much friendlier smile than he'd displayed in their earlier negotiations. "Is there any chance I can drive her?"

"Sorry, dude," the man said apologetically, "You know why I can't."

Booth's shoulders slumped and he nodded dejectedly.

"Why?" asked Brennan. "Isn't the car for sale?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then why can't he test drive it?"

"Because everybody wants to drive her, Bones," Booth explained sadly. "And the only person who gets that privilege is the same one who drives her straight home.

"I don't understand," Brennan insisted. "It's a car. It's meant to be driven."

"She's _not _just a car," Booth said reverently, casting a glance at the shiny vehicle. "She's like the Holy Grail of 1960s engineering. This car is a museum piece. She's meant to be looked at. Admired. Coveted. But rarely, if ever, driven."

"But—"

Booth held up his hand to silence her. "It's like, imagine we found Columbus' original boats, Bones. Yes, I know that's impossible, but go with me on this. They magically wash up on the Jeffersonian's shores one day, intact. Do you honestly think any anthropologist or archaeologist or any other kind of squint worth his or her salt would even consider sailing around the world in them?" He preempted her answer. "Of course not. They'd be put on public display for the masses to admire, with state of the art security all around and 350 pound bodyguards roaming the hallways pouncing on people who sneezed the wrong way."

Brennan chewed her lower lip in aggravation. "It's a car. It has no similarity to Columbus' vessels or the evolutionary link between – "

"Come on, Bones," her partner sighed. "Get in your bright shiny new 2010 model and let's go home. You can give me a massage and help me forget the pain of leaving this beauty behind."

It was her turn to drag Booth away from the widely smiling salesman, who definitely sensed something big in the works.

"Booth, listen. I know that I can't offer to purchase that vehicle for you without offending your masculine sensibilities of financial worth and –"

"Whoa!" Booth's eyes popped. "Don't even go there, Bones," he warned. "Don't, don't, _don't _even go there. No way are you suggesting you'd buy a car—any car—much less," he pointed, "_That_ car for me."

"I'm not," she repeated patiently. "What I'm suggesting is that I still want an exciting vehicle, in addition to the one I've just purchased."

"Not hearing this." Booth backed away and she followed him.

"_Booth_, just listen to me. I don't know anything about vehicles, but you could use this car to teach me. We could share it.'"

"Her. She's not an it, she's a her. Bones, did you not hear a word of what I said? This is not a car you drive. She's meant to be put on display."

"That's stupid," she said bluntly. "It has wheels and an engine and it was designed to be driven. Perhaps not extensively, if that's your preference, but keeping it in a sterile environment would be the equivalent to what I've been doing with myself for all these years."

Booth's jaw dropped slightly.

"You're the one who told me to take the heart and pop it into overdrive. Can't that be applied to this car as well?"

He dragged his hand across his face. "Bones, I know you've got money to burn, but you have no idea what something like this costs, the insurance premiums, not to mention where the hell you'd put her to keep her safe—"

"Booth, please." Brennan put her hand on his arm and forced him to look into her eyes. "Money is not an issue. We could find somewhere to store 'her' safely in between drives. Week 6 is approaching. I want to do something nice for … us. I don't believe in marriage, but perhaps this could be a symbol of my commitment to the relationship."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? The woman of his dreams was offering him the car of his dreams and he couldn't accept the gift, no matter how badly his feet were itching to tap that vintage gas pedal. And yet, the look on Brennan's face warned him not to overlook the message behind the gesture.

He took her hands in his, running his thumb across the edges of her neatly manicured nails. "Bones, most people buy pets as a first symbol of their commitment."

"You dislike animals," she replied . "And you and I have repeatedly agreed that we're not most people."

Booth cast his eyes longingly over the gleaming Sting Ray. His arguments were quickly dwindling in the face of the black grills, front fender vent trims, leather seats and wood-grained accents.

"The guys would give me hell if they knew my partner bought me a car."

"You're not going to drive it to work," Brennan pointed out logically. "And if they see you with it, you can always say it's mine."

"_She_, Bones," Booth insisted, flinching at her blatant disrespect of such a fine piece of machinery, "Not it. I'd be afraid to drive her. One little scratch …"

"You can repair any damage that occurs from normal use. If the vehicle is as special as you're saying, it—she—deserves a chance at an open highway."

The smile in her eyes told Booth she knew she had him. He made one last ditch argument, trying not to imagine the feel of the wind in his face and that engine purring as he put her through her paces.

"I can't let you spend this kind of money on me."

"I'm not spending it just on you. It's for me as well. Money has never before been an issue in our relationship. You've always seemed secure with my higher financial status. Has that suddenly changed?"

"Oh, come _on_, Bones. Just because I'm having a hard time seeing you drop what amounts to two years' salary on a car you don't even like—"

"I like her," Brennan interrupted.

He sighed. "What do you like about her, Bones?"

"She's … pretty."

"Like daffodils?" Booth pressed his hands to his eyes, seeing rainbow-colored dots dancing in the distance, with a Manzo red Vette cruising their way. "No, Bones. She's not pretty. She's _hot."_

"You _want_ her, Booth." The seductive look on Brennan's face made his mouth go dry. "We could have … fun in her. Don't teenagers use vehicles for the purposes of sexual recreation?"

Visions of backseat action took over his brain, right alongside the image of what that kind of 'recreation' would do to such a pristine automobile …

"I'm buying her," Brennan informed him, clearly aggravated by the indecision on his face. "You can choose to have your name on the title. Or not."

That capped it. Booth nodded at the salesguy, who retreated indoors with a shit-eating grin that said his commission for today's sales had just quadrupled.

Brennan smiled up at him victoriously. "What do we do while he draws up the papers?"

"_You_ do nothing," Booth said darkly, backing her against the Sting Ray. "You've done plenty already, Dr. Brennan. Allow me to attend to your every need for a minute …"

He hovered over her, gaze sweeping across her beautiful face and lower, then back up again, to collide with her eyes so fiercely that sparks may just have been generated at their feet.

"Easy, Agent Booth. We don't want to scratch the fini—mfff." Brennan's teasing words died away as Booth's mouth crushed down on hers. Her arms were pinned between them; his arms framed her against the car. There was no frantic groping or touching of any kind. The entire kiss hinged on their fused lips, each partner aggressively pressing for control with hard thrusts of tongue and decidedly fierce clashes of teeth. Booth momentarily had the upper hand and was enjoying the uncharacteristically breathy little moans he was coaxing from his partner as he slowly traced the grooves of her lips and sucked them teasingly, when a rather desperately cleared throat alerted him to the man standing behind them.

Brennan let out a muffled giggle as Booth shifted his stance slightly to pin the salesguy with a death glare.

"We're … uh … closing," he stammered. "Would you like to … sign?"

He seriously debated kicking the guy's ass around the block, based solely on the fact that Brennan had dropped a shitload of money and should be afforded a little extra time. Ever the restrained FBI Agent, Booth gritted his teeth and nodded.

"We'll be there in a second."

He turned back to Brennan, who had a decidedly un-squinty Cheshire Cat grin plastered across her face.

"You. Drive. Me. Crazy." He swooped in for another hard kiss and then broke away. She grabbed his hand and they headed into the dealership, unaware of the picture they presented to the small crowd of employees who had gathered to watch their celebrity customer get it on with the man she wrote best-selling fiction about.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Nathaniel Preston was a _seriously _happy man tonight. Apart from the unusually high sales he'd logged earlier in the day, the commission he made off of the last two sales alone would pay for an engagement ring, the wedding and the honeymoon, while also seeding a college fund for his future progeny. Assuming, of course, that his long-suffering girlfriend still wanted to marry him after waiting so long. If not, Preston figured he'd take the money to Vegas and do something or other crazy with it.

Special Agent Seeley Booth finished signing his name to the large stack of paperwork and looked up.

"You are one lucky man," Preston said, reviewing the documents to ensure that Booth hadn't missed anything. "Not only is she hot—your girlfriend has seriously good taste in cars."

"She is hot," Booth agreed amiably, although Preston detected an edge to the friendly tone and realized quickly he'd trespassed on sovereign territory, "But she's not my girlfriend. We work together."

Preston's eyes widened in disbelief. "You just co-signed for a 6 figure car with a coworker?"

"Our work is ... unique. She's my partner. Just not my girlfriend."

Through the window, Preston watched the smokin' hot redhead stop just short of the door as she registered Booth's words. He was accustomed to tears when women were offended, but Dr. Brennan showed no emotion other than a slight narrowing of the eyes and loss of color in her face.

He turned to his computer, preparing to input the final details of the sale. "Your not-girlfriend doesn't look too happy," he commented casually.

Booth looked at him questioningly. Wordlessly, Preston pointed at the window behind them.

The FBI Agent looked over his shoulder and jumped from his chair without a word, knocking it over in his haste.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Bones! Bones, Bones, Bones, _Bones!"_

Booth's increasingly loud voice followed her out of the dealership, back onto the lot. She headed straight for her new vehicle, needed some kind of private space in which to digest her unexpectedly violent emotions. As she opened the door to the SUV and started to climb in, Booth caught up with her and stopped her from closing the door.

"Hey!" His voice was edged with frustration. "What's with the switch and bait?"

"I don't know what that means." Brennan slid the remainder of the way into the car.

"We just bought a car together and now you're running out on me again. What gives?"

"We just bought a car together," Brennan repeated. "Why?"

Booth looked baffled. "Because you wanted to. You said—"

"I purchased the car as a physical symbol of commitment." She didn't understand the insistent stinging in her eyes. She'd never been a crier, or so she'd thought. The last months had made a confusing mockery of that cherished notion.

"I'm clueless here, Bones." Booth rested his arm on the roof of the vehicle and stared at her. "Throw me a bone or something, please?"

"What am I?" Brennan demanded.

He shook his head. "Still Romanian, Bones. Try some specifics."

"I'm your friend. I'm your partner. Am I anything else?"

Understanding finally began to dawn in Booth's eyes and Brennan wanted to cringe in embarrassment at her childish, emotional reaction to such a minor detail.

"You heard me talking to Preston." Booth leaned into the small space between the door and the seat. "You and I haven't had that conversation, Bones. I didn't want to overstep—I know what you're like about labels and feeling like someone is staking a claim on you. Is this—" he waved vaguely, "Your way of saying you want a label on our relationship?"

"I've had boyfriends in the past," she said tightly. "The label is somewhat juvenile, but its connotation is appropriate to the context of our relationship."

In the hazy light of dusk, Booth's eyes seemed to glow. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than usual. "Then you're my partner, Bones. And you're also my girlfriend. Plain and simple." He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "All you had to do was tell me. Believe it or not, my psychic skills don't apply to romantic relationships."

He was trying to make her laugh, but there was that still that hollow in the pit of her stomach, that undefined hurt she'd felt when he'd outright denied their relationship.

Booth's expression shifted and he pulled out his cellphone. Eyes still on her, he speed-dialed a number. After a couple of seconds, someone on the other end clearly picked up the line.

"Hey buddy. I know you're at a sleepover. Just one quick question. You still wanna go to Fun Times with Bones again?"

He paused and listened to Parker's response, smiling widely. "We fixed things. Yeah, Parker, we're kissing again. You'll understand when you have a girlfriend of your own."

Brennan heard the chorus of ewwwww on the other end of the line, followed by the empty dial tone.

Booth pocketed the cellphone and crossed his arms. "My son knows you're my girlfriend. I'll tell Preston you are, if that's what you want. Hell, I'll tell Hacker and Cullen and the entire Bureau, if it'll make you happy. Just one question, Bones."

She waited.

"The label goes both ways, right? I'm your boyfriend?"

It was sappy and trite and juvenile, but Brennan couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. "Yes."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

In the end, they left the car at the dealership overnight, at Booth's insistence. He refused to take it off the lot until Brennan found a facility that could adequately monitor what he called "a priceless piece of art" and Brennan couldn't get him to budge on that point. So they drove home in her new forest green ride, with Brennan at the wheel and Booth sprawled in the comfortably spacious passenger seat.

"Would you like to pretend to be teenagers?" she inquired as they pulled up at her place.

"Not in the middle of your parking lot!" Booth exclaimed, sitting up. "If you wanted to do that, Bones, we should've pulled off on some backroad. I'm familiar with a few of them."

"My backseat is dark." She shrugged. "I'm inexperienced in this respect. Maybe another day."

The heated look she gave him as she got out of the SUV made Booth suddenly regret his innate sense of propriety.

"You still owe me a massage," he reminded her in the elevator, after stalling it for a couple of minutes in order to kiss her sufficiently to atone for his mistake at the dealership.

"Would you be willing to accept a raincheck tonight? I'd prefer to give you a massage when I have more energy. Perhaps at the end of tomorrow's date?"

He kissed her for using an idiom right, and then again, for insisting on planning a date a day until Week 6, assuming work permitted.

"Tomorrow, then," he sighed melodramatically as they arrived on her doorstep.

She unlocked the door and stood aside to let him in. Booth hovered outside long enough that she gave him a puzzled look.

"Ah, Bones," he began a little nervously, "I just want to make sure you're not feeling crowded. If you need some space—maybe you want your bed to yourself tonight—"

To his relief, she didn't seem at all nonplussed. "I haven't seen much of you in three weeks. I'm enjoying our time together. Do you need space?"

"No, no!" Booth said hastily, still not stepping inside. "It's just—I know what you're like, Bones, and I don't want you to start feeling like your territory is being invaded, or like you can't breathe—"

Brennan leaned against the doorway. "If I need space, I'll tell you."

"Are you sure about that?" Booth asked uncertainly.

"I promise." She crooked a finger and he followed her inside, mesmerized as always by the as-yet-unfulfilled promise in that blue gaze.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He always slept soundly when he was around Brennan. It was contradictory, really—he felt the need to remain awake to protect her from shadows, but her very presence at his side lulled him into a deeper rest than he usually got on his own. Nightmares seemed to recede into the background with Brennan breathing deeply beside him, her head hogging half the pillow, her body draped warmly over his in a starfish splay.

Booth was several hours into that peaceful slumber when the high pitched cry yanked him out of its depths, bringing him upright instantaneously. His Army reflexes kicked in and he immediately oriented himself, taking less than 3 seconds to figure out where the noise was coming from and what was making it.

Brennan was sitting up in bed beside him, hands clutching the sheets white-knuckled, eyes dilated to the size of saucers. She was screaming.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: So, dear readers, I leave you with that tiny cliffhanger, in hopes of some kind, specific reviews upon my return on Tuesday, to spur me on to writing the next chapter. =) I sincerely hope I'll have internet access and be able to update before then. It's almost time for me to start teaching again so I need to start wrapping up this fic. **

**That said, here's a question for all of you: I still feel like there's a lot that could be done with this story, both before Week 6 and after. However, once I start teaching on August 8****th****, my life will be consumed by work. So—would you prefer I wrap the story up completely, even if I feel like I'm not quite there yet—or would you be okay with sporadic updates (maybe once a week, or once every 2 weeks), so long as I promise to **_**keep updating**_** until it's complete? **

**To summarize: Option 1—Just wrap it up already. Option 2—Definitely round out Week 6, but leave the story ending somewhat open to be continued in whatever limited free time I might have.**

**Thanks for your feedback and for your answers to the above. Till Tuesday, or earlier, perhaps ... =) **


	52. Nightmare

**A/N: I'm back! =) I can't tell you how ecstatically happy I am about the inbox full of wonderful reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Your feedback means so much to me as this story continues to unfold. 98% of you requested Option 2, so I also thank you for that wonderful vote of confidence. It may take a little longer to get to Week 6, but most of you have noted that you understand the purpose of this story is about the journey, not the destination and that in itself is a huge compliment. So, again, **_**thank you**_**. And thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for her beta and constant encouragement. **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology **_**is moving into Chapter 7 and the B/B reunion promises to be all kinds of sweet, so definitely read it if you haven't yet … Skole Bone's latest chapter offering for **_**Progeny **_**is also up and highly worth a visit, particularly if you enjoy shirtless Booth. ;)**

**Without further ado, I give you Chapter 52. Chapter 53 is halfway done, so you shouldn't have to wait too long for more. Thanks again for your patience and your feedback. I'm a very happy author tonight. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Her nightmares never made her scream. Generally, she bolted upright breathing heavily, alarmed and upset, but not disturbed enough that returning to sleep was unattainable. This one was different.

Fear coiled around Brennan like barbed wire, sharp, pointed edges digging into the already raw spots deep within her. She scrambled for purchase, seeking an exit to the darkness threatening to extinguish her sense of reason and self. It was like climbing a smooth wall with no handholds, scrabbling futilely for something, anything to lift her away from the image replaying over and over in her mind.

Screaming was a natural extension of the tension building within her. Unable to contain the terror any longer, she lunged forward at the shadows, deciding to confront them head-on, rather than submit so easily. A voice calling her name filtered into the chaos of dark and sound and she made her way towards it.

"_Bones. Bones. Temperance!"_

Her eyes flew open. It took a minute to register that she was on her bed, in her bedroom, surrounded by familiar objects—the dresser, the chair, her desk. She breathed a sigh of relief. No dark shadows appeared to have jumped the barrier between sleep and wakening.

"Bones?" A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped, twisting around in surprise.

Her nightmare stared back at her in consternation. "What—"

Brennan rolled out of bed and hurried for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before being sick. She braced herself with one hand on the tub beside her, the other on the edge of the seat. As the waves of nausea roiled through her, she broke out in a cold sweat, adding feverish shaking to the tremors already racking her body. Vaguely, she was aware of Booth joining her in the bathroom, lifting her hair back from her face. When there was nothing left to empty from her stomach, she sank to the floor and scooted back against the wall.

Booth flushed the toilet and silently proffered a glass of water, which Brennan took gratefully and used to rinse away the awful tang in her mouth. When she was finished, he traded her the empty glass for a damp washcloth. She wasn't one to enjoy being coddled, but the cool cloth felt good on her face and neck.

When she looked up next, he was gone and she wasn't entirely sorry. It was hard to look at him just now, with the memory still so fresh. His face reflected nothing but love and concern, which made the thoughts running on a loop through her mind even worse. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, trying to rationalize away the terror she could still taste.

A soft thud made her eyes fly open again. The toilet lid was closed and a fresh set of pajamas and a towel were on top it. Brennan looked sideways, encountering her partner's large frame hovering in the doorway. The nightmare receded slightly as she took in his worried eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders. There was nothing to fear from him. She knew this beyond a shadow of any doubt.

He indicated the T-shirt and shorts she was currently wearing. "You're dripping sweat."

Brennan realized belatedly that he was right. The dream had scared her so badly that she'd completely soaked her clothes. They were glued to her skin in a combination of hot, cold and uncomfortably sticky.

"A shower might make you feel better," Booth continued, not pressing her for details of what had made her scream.

She knew he would instinctively want to embrace her, and was grateful that he knew her well enough to hold back and give her as much space as he was capable of, given his protective nature.

"You want tea?" he asked, rubbing a hand across his face.

Unable to conjure up enough strength at the moment to say anything, she nodded and he vanished down the hallway again, shutting the door behind him. Brennan struggled up from the floor and stepped under the showerhead. She turned the water on full blast and let it play across her rigid muscles, reaching back to massage specific pressure points to speed the process of stress release.

After at least 20 minutes of just letting the water roll over her, she lathered up, rinsed off, dried herself, and climbed into the fresh clothes Booth had found for her. She pushed open the door and headed for the kitchen, then paused as she spotted him in the bedroom. A steaming cup of tea sat on a coaster on the nightstand next to her usual side of the bed. Stepping inside, she realized he was exchanging her sweat-damp sheets for a fresh set.

A wave of something she was finally beginning to recognize as love washed over, sweeping away the remaining fragments of fear and panic. He was a good man. Such a good, strong man. And he loved her for some reason, in spite of the hell she put him through regularly.

Booth looked up from where he was tucking the top sheet into place. He offered her a small smile, tempered by obvious worry. "Feeling any better?"

She could see how hard he was trying not to ask questions. Not to push her beyond the invisible limits she continually set and somehow expected him to see. Guilt set in.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he answered, reclining against a pillow and patting the spot next to him.

She couldn't. Not yet. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed several feet away, she crossed her legs under her and tried to find a way to explain.

Booth preempted her thoughts. "You don't have to tell me about it if you're not ready."

"I want to tell you," Brennan replied. "I know it will hurt you if I don't."

"Nightmares are kind of outside of the trust thing, Bones." There was vivid empathy and understanding in his gaze, reminding Brennan that he knew as much about bad dreams as she did. "I know how hard it can be to explain them."

"I want to tell you," she repeated, reaching for the cup of tea. "But I'm afraid it will hurt you more if I tell you than if I don't."

He frowned. "Now you've kind of gotta tell me, Bones. You can't just say something like that and expect me to forget."

Brennan wrapped her fingers around the warm cup, grateful for the warmth seeping into her slowly.

"What was it?" he asked. "The Grave Digger dream again?"

She wanted to look away from him, but her style had never been avoidance when it came to direct personal confrontation. If she realized there was a problem—which, admittedly, she didn't always—she faced it head-on, and that included direct eye contact.

"I was in a glass coffin. It was suspended somehow in midair, so I could see all the way down into the grave I was about to be buried in, as well as around and above me."

Booth's expression didn't change, but the flicker in his eyes told her everything she needed to know about how he was feeling. Brennan took a sip of tea, uncertain of how, exactly, to approach the darker details of her dream.

"The coffin was narrow enough so I couldn't move anything except my head. The walls were pressing around me so tightly, it was hard to breathe … then clods of dirt began falling on the glass ceiling."

Her partner let out a soft, troubled oath. "Bones—"

She couldn't stop now. If she did, she'd never tell him. "I could see the silhouette of a person at the top of the grave, wielding the shovel. For a few minutes, all I could see was the shadow, slowly burying me alive. Then it was like a camera panned closer and I got a good view of who was shoveling the dirt on top of me."

"Was it Taffett?" His voice was gruff with restrained emotion.

A different kind of fear overtook Brennan, even more powerful than the one caused by her dream. Fear of hurting someone so dear to her, it was painful to contemplate. "No. It was you, Booth. You were the Grave Digger."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

If it hadn't been for his extensive training, Booth might have physically recoiled from her words. As it was, he was hard-pressed to avoid bolting for the bathroom and repeating Brennan's own earlier exercise. Sick to his stomach didn't begin to describe the sensation. It felt like a giant fist had suddenly reached down his throat, grabbed hold of his guts, and yanked upwards.

_It was you, Booth. You were the Grave Digger._

Pain interwove itself with nausea, until each feeling became wholly indistinct from the other and all he could do was try and surf the emotions, attempting to stay ahead of the wave threatening to engulf him.

_You were the Grave Digger. You were the Grave Digger. You were the Grave Digger._

The words might as well have been branded onto him with an iron. He knew he'd never completely erase them from his memory.

He was aware that Brennan had crawled over to his side of the bed and was talking to him, pleading for him to return from the dark space his mind had retreated into.

"Booth, I'm sorry."

He'd never heard that note of hysteria in her voice before and it only added to the chaos inside his brain. The wave crested over him and he went under, in spite of his best efforts. Years ago, he'd been subjected to a form of water torture. His lungs felt like they were once again filled with fluid, unable to draw breath because the board laid across his chest kept his diaphragm from expanding. He closed his eyes, blocking out the additional pain of Brennan's anguished face.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to cause you pain. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Booth, I'm sorry_._"

He'd never heard her apologize so many times in a single breath, much less sounding so utterly contrite. Generally her apologies were grudging.

Contrition became desperation. "I should never have told you. Booth, say something!"

The tears in her voice were the force that ultimately propelled him up above the wave again. He surfaced, heart pounding, lungs working furiously to draw air into his oxygen deprived body. His eyes opened and met hers. She knelt beside him, somehow managing to be flushed and pale at the same time, her eyes huge with unusually easy to read emotions. Fear. Guilt.

"I'm glad you told me." It was an effort to speak but once the gears were greased, Booth found that speech returned rather quickly. "That's not the kind of thing you should ever keep inside, Bones. _Ever._" It made him queasy all over again to even contemplate her locking that kind of terror away within herself. "Promise me you'll tell me if you have a similar dream again."

"I don't understand what purpose that would serve. I've already caused you—"

"Just promise me, Bones," he interrupted. "Don't ever keep something like that back in order to protect me. It'll only hurt us both more in the end. Promise you'll tell me if it happens again."

She laid a hand on his arm. "All right. I promise."

He reacted automatically, pressing his hand over top of hers.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." She sounded as confused and frustrated as she looked. "I don't understand the dream, Booth. I know you would never harm me."

Of course she didn't understand. Her genius brain operated mostly on a literal level. The way Brennan saw the world, the mysteries of the subconscious were probably just more psychological mumbo jumbo.

Booth released her hand and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He suddenly needed to _move._ Without thinking, he started toward the doorway of the bedroom.

"Can we meet after work tomorrow to discuss the case?"

Brennan's quiet words arrested him like a bungee cord attached to a person in mid-flight. He pivoted back towards her. She was still kneeling on the bed, staring after him with a sad, resigned look on her face. Booth mentally kicked himself.

"I'm not leaving, Bones. I just … We need to talk this thing out and I … I need to walk while we're talking."

For a change, she didn't even glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand before responding. These late night outings were becoming almost habitual for them. Too much so.

Brennan slid off the bed. "Let me just put on a bra and some jeans."

He nodded and headed into the living room to trade out his sweats for jeans of his own.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They didn't hold hands as they walked briskly toward a park near Brennan's place. By silent, mutual agreement, they decided that both partners needed some space and settled for walking closely side by side.

Brennan began the conversation typically, avoiding any gentle lead-ins and jumping straight into the deep end of the emotional pool. "I don't understand why I would dream something like that."

Booth waited to respond until they'd crossed the street to the park and started a lap around the edge of the small manmade lake.

"I know you don't do psychology, Bones, but I can think of several good reasons for that nightmare." Twigs crunched underfoot, filling the silence as she waited for him to continue. There was no way to really ease into things at this point, so Booth followed her lead and simply stated the facts bluntly.

"The first one is the most obvious. All that dirt landing on top of you-you're feeling smothered by spending so much time with me. Suffocated."

"I already told you earlier in the evening that I don't feel that way," Brennan objected immediately. "I wasn't lying, Booth."

"I didn't say you were," he replied, dodging a pile of empty beer cans clustered at the lake's gravel edge. "You might not be feeling that way. Then again, Bones, sometimes what's going on up here—" he tapped his head, "Doesn't always match what's going on in here." He touched his chest.

"I don't know what that means."

_Of course not_. He stifled a groan of frustration.

"It means that you might not think you feel smothered, but you actually do and you're just avoiding the realization."

Brennan ground to a halt beside him so suddenly that it took Booth several more steps before he realized she'd stopped and had to backtrack to her side.

"I do not feel suffocated," she said firmly, blue eyes flashing in the dark. "I am very familiar with the feeling, Booth. There's no question I would recognize it. Your protective, alpha male instincts can be quite smothering. But you have not been acting in such a manner recently. Or, if you have, I apparently no longer mind it so much."

The tension between them was so thick you could use it to ice a cake, but Booth had to laugh at the Brennan-styled compliment, nonetheless. "Thanks, Bones. I think."

They resumed walking at a slightly faster gait than before. If Sweets had been around, he might have noted that they were metaphorically trying to outdistance their problems.

"What's another one of the reasons you believe I might have had such a nightmare?" she asked as they passed a graffitied stone bench.

"You're still mad at me for bailing on you over that magazine article."

"I am not—"

"Bones, just think about it for a minute. I pulled the rug out from under your feet completely." He picked up the pace slightly and she matched his stride without complaint. "I hurt you in a way I promised I never would, just when you were starting to open up to me. Don't you think that could somehow work its way into a coffin metaphor?"

"I hate psychology." Brennan kicked another beer can out of the way. "I don't feel suffocated. I'm not angry at you. What's another possible reason for the dream?"

"I'm running out of reasons here, Bones," he retorted. "You wanna maybe try a few ideas of your own? The last one I can think of is fear. You're afraid of getting so close to somebody when everybody you've ever gotten close to has buried you alive."

She huffed out a frustrated breath. "That's more plausible than your previous theories, at least. How do we fix it?"

"I don't know, Bones. I'm not a shrink." Booth broke into a full out jog.

"We can't continue like this," she pointed out, running beside him. "My emotional tangents are interfering with our daily lives. We can't take another day off tomorrow. I _need _to be able to focus at work, Booth."

_At least she hadn't placed the blame on the relationship, for a change._

"Sweets might be able to help," he suggested, enjoying the feel of real—not metaphorical—burning in his chest as he ran full out and tried to talk simultaneously.

"No!" Brennan exclaimed, not far behind him. "He's too … close, Booth. I need to keep our personal lives somewhat … personal."

"Then what?" he demanded in irritation. "It's your turn to suggest something."

"Gordon-Gordon?"

"Out of town."

"He's the only other psychologist I trust even marginally, Booth. His techniques have shown some worth when addressing previous issues in our partnership."

It was getting harder and harder to talk and run. "Okay. I'll call him. Tomorrow."

Brennan drew shoulder-to-shoulder with him. "We have to fix this, Booth. I need this resolved."

"I get it, Bones." How the hell was she still talking so easily? "It's interfering with work."

"Yes. No. It's interfering with work _and_ us, Booth. I don't like it."

His heart sped up for reasons not connected to their impromptu cardio session. "We'll get through this, Bones. Race you around the lake."

She broke into a surprisingly fast sprint and he hurried to catch up with her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: I'm in the middle of answering all your reviews and PMs, so bear with me. If you haven't gotten a personal thank you, you will shortly, assuming there's a link I can click on to contact you. If you've disabled that feature and I can't send you messages, just know that I'm very grateful for the time you took to leave me a note, even if I can't thank you for it personally.**


	53. Dark Side

**A/N: Thanks for all the fantastic reviews for 52. Big request: Please, please, please NO SPOILERS in your reviews. I've managed to stay 99% spoiler free thus far, and I'd like to keep it that way. Thanks. =) **

**As always, thanks to my brilliant beta Eternal Destiny, who has made this insanely hot New Mexico summer so much more enjoyable with all her encouragement and good humor. Her latest one-shot "The Evening in the Dress" is one of the best I've ever read. Seriously. She just posted it and if you don't read it from beginning to the hot, sizzling end, you're seriously missing out. Let's just say it'll give you Week 6 before I get there. =) If you do read it, drop her a line to let her know how awesome she is, please. =)**

**Those of you who have made suggestions for songs and plot ideas, please know that I have not forgotten you, and watch for them shortly. These chapters kind of came out of nowhere and demanded to be written, forcing a delay in my original plot plans. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Wait. Gordon Gordon wants us to _what?"_ Booth looked at Brennan over his paperwork piled desk.

Brennan picked at her brussel sprout, spinach, feta, olive and balsamic vinegar salad. "Do you really want me to elaborate all over again?"

"Yeah, Bones, I do." He stabbed at his chunky mashed potatoes unnecessarily viciously. "What you just described sounds a lot like one of Sweets' trust techniques. Gordon Gordon's not like that usually. He's more … adult."

She arranged herself more comfortably on the couch and glanced at the clock. "I only have 30 minutes left of lunch. Are you certain we've covered all the particulars of the case?"

"No. That's something else we need to go back over with a fine tooth comb." Booth glared at the convoluted documents in front of him. "Stuff just isn't lining up like it should be. But that's work. We can get into it as soon as we finish lunch. Read me Gordon Gordon's email again."

"All right. I'll skip the extraneous material." Brennan picked up the print out and read aloud:

**Sit on the floor with your backs touching and your arms linked.**

"That _definitely _sounds like a trust exercise."

She gave Booth a withering glance and continued.

**Each of you will have 2 sealed sets of questions, for a total of 4 sessions. Once you have decided when and where to undertake this exercise, I will email the questions to you individually, as separate documents that you must print out and **_**withhold from reading**_** until the appointed time.**

**I will assume that you are now both on the floor and have envelopes 1 and 2 in your respective hands.**

**To begin the exercise, Dr. Brennan will read the first blank statement from her list. The statement is open-ended and must be answered immediately. Responses may not be discussed at this point. As an example: Dr. Brennan reads "I don't like it when …" and Agent Booth responds by quoting the entire sentence verbatim and filling in his response. E.g. "I don't like it when **_**you wear red**_**." **

"I like you in red," Booth interjected.

She ignored him.

**Then Dr. Brennan takes a turn completing the statement, (E.g. "I don't like it when**_** you eat steak**_**"), and the activity continues with the next statement and so on and so forth until all 6 of her statements have been completed by both partners.**

**A 5 minute break is taken, during which you do not discuss the exercise.**

**Agent Booth opens his envelope. After his round, you take another break and so on, until all 4 rounds have been completed. Your problem is then "fixed" as Agent Booth so eloquently put it; the Booth and Brennan partnership is put to rights once again, and the interstellar harmony of the cosmos is reestablished.**

Booth waved his fork. "Sounds really complicated."

"No more complicated than what is apparently going on inside my head," Brennan answered. "I need this, Booth. Unless you can come up with a better solution, _we _need this."

For her to be insisting on psychiatric intervention, on any level, was measure enough of her concern.

"Okay, okay. I'll do what the doctor ordered. Out of curiosity though …" He spread his arms across his disaster of a desk. "When?"

"That brings me to the next reason I came over here for lunch."

"I liked it better when you dropped by just to see me," Booth commented drily.

"I'm trying to be open, Booth. You're not helping."

"Sorry." Booth rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Go ahead."

"I don't think Week 6 is any longer a feasible end to our experiment."

That got his attention. He sat up and shoved aside the remains of his lunch. He wanted to sit beside her, maybe hug her, but they'd both agreed to cool the physical end of the relationship until they'd sorted through her nightmare.

"I want to have intercourse with you, Booth. Don't misunderstand me."

He held up a finger, indicating she should hold that thought, then crossed the room and closed the door, locking it.

"Not because I'm a prude," he said pointedly. "Even though Hacker and Cullen have obviously agreed to ignore our relationship, we don't need to advertise it anymore than necessary in the hallway." He sat down in a chair across from her. "Go on."

"I also want to date you," Brennan continued, as though he'd never interrupted. "I have several ideas for enjoyable outings that I hoped we would engage in this week. However, Dr. Wyatt's sessions will take up at least one of those evenings in its entirety. Cleaning up your desk will take another evening, as will revisiting the parameters of this case."

He attempted a summary of her convoluted speech. "So what you're saying is that you want to hold off on Week 6 until we have time to get in at least some of those dates you've planned?"

"And until my own emotional patterns have become once again stable."

Booth wisely refrained from pointing out that her 'emotional patterns' had never _been _particularly stable, even before they started dating.

"It's not fair to you, Booth." Brennan reached back and massaged the nape of her neck. "I realize that you view intercourse as a commitment almost equivalent to the purchase of the Corvette. If we are to make that commitment, you deserve a more stable partner. I dislike how I've been … pulling your strings."

"Pulling my chain," he corrected. "And you're not, Bones. You're just a little overwhelmed with emotions you haven't dealt with since you were 15."

"You said you don't like to talk—you prefer to just 'wade in and start waling away at things.' Lately all we do is talk."

"There's a lot to talk through," he pointed out. "We've been avoiding all this for almost 6 years. Bones, it's okay."

"No, it's not. I don't like this person, Booth. I don't recognize her."

"She'll become more familiar," he promised. "And it'll get easier. It'll never be easy—we both know that—but it'll definitely get easier."

She looked exhausted—an increasingly frequent state for both partners in the last few weeks, since Booth's rash actions had triggered the avalanche of emotions currently consuming both of their lives.

"Bones," he said gently, leaning forward to touch her hand, "I like this person. It's still the same person you were before. You've just … you've just got a few more layers to make things interesting." He watched in concern as she continued to massage her neck. "Headache?"

"Tense trapezius," she shrugged. "I'm fine."

He got up and joined her on the couch. "I'll rub your shoulders."

"I thought we agreed—"

"There's nothing sexual about this, Bones. It's just … a partner thing."

She eyed him dubiously. "Like guy hugs?"

Booth swallowed the snort of laughter that threatened to explode from him. "Okay, so partners don't usually massage each other," he admitted. "But we both need it, Bones. I'm just as tense."

"Because of me."

_Damn._

"Because of … everything. Now stop talking and come sit in front of me," he ordered.

"What about Week 6?"

"Let's just see how the rest of Week 5 goes first, before we decide to change things." He patted the floor. "Sit."

Brennan scooted onto the floor and sat in between his knees. Booth slid her hair to one aside and started with a gentle scratching motion up and down her back.

She leaned forward against the coffee table so he could more easily access her spine. "More pressure."

"Take off your shirt."

Brennan twisted around to stare at him in astonishment. Booth met her startled gaze coolly. "Your back feels like a wooden plank. If you want me to do anything with those knots, I need something besides a shirt to work with. I promise, I'm too tired to think of … other stuff at the moment."

"Lunch is over, Booth."

"How many lunches have you and I worked through?" he asked archly. "I think we're entitled to the occasional extension. We'll work on the case all afternoon and night if you want."

Turning her back to him without further protest, she drew her blouse over her head and tossed it aside. In spite of his words, Booth had to close his eyes just for a second, to avoid the thoughts that inevitably rose to his mind when confronted with his partner in only a black bra and slacks.

"Booth?"

He cleared his throat and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Yeah?"

"It's an absurd question. I don't know why I feel the need to ask."

He dug his fingers into the rigid muscles at the sides of her neck, applying the deeper pressure she'd requested. "Any day now, Bones."

She allowed her head to loll to one side. "Have your feelings for me changed due to my recent emotional instability?"

_Jesus. She was going to kill him one of these days._

"I'm aware that I've added a significant level of stress to your life. It would be understandable if—"

"That's not how love works, Bones." He couldn't help dropping a reassuring kiss onto her bare shoulder. "I loved you yesterday." Another kiss, at the base of her neck. "I love you today." A third, on the opposite shoulder . "I'll love you tomorrow." He tugged her shoulders back so he could look into her upturned face. Only into her face. He kissed her mouth. "Nothing is going to change that, no matter how wild the ride occasionally gets."

She returned the kiss unhurriedly, reaching up to cup the back of his head. "I love you too, Booth."

He closed his eyes to contain the surge of emotion, as much as to block out the view of cleavage that her raised arm afforded. His lips stroked hers softly. "Ah, Bones. You're worth everything. Iubirea mea."

"You looked it up?" Brennan trailed her hand across his jaw.

"I bought a Romanian dictionary. Mi-ai furat inima," he responded.

She pulled back in surprise. "What does that mean?"

"Look it up, baby." Booth grinned. "I probably mangled the pronunciation, so you oughta have fun chasing that one down."

He dodged the playful punch she threw and nudged her forward again. Alternating between firm, sweeping motions and small, firm circles, he moved up her spine, over her trapezius and across the tense muscles at the side of her neck. He lingered at the base of her skull when she indicated through soft murmurs that he'd hit a particularly tense spot.

"Booooooth …." She exhaled his name in pleasure. "That feels wonderful …"

"Wait till you get one of my full body massages." He snuck a quick look at her face, enjoying the surprise written across it. He loved putting the occasional twist on her erroneous ideas of his views on sex. "'Good' doesn't describe how you'll feel afterwards."

"In some ways you are an utterly atypical male," Brennan mused. "And in others, such as in your need to proclaim your bedroom prowess, you are completely normal."

"Nothin' wrong with normal," he retorted. "So long as you don't confuse that with 'average.'"

"Which you're not, of course," she teased.

"If you only knew," Booth smiled evilly, "You wouldn't want to postpone our experiment."

He dropped his head and whispered words for their ears only, a few of which actually might have been responsible for Brennan's slight blush. Satisfied that he'd made her rethink a few of her misconceptions, he sat back.

"How's the headache?"

"Much better," she admitted. "Thank you, Booth."

"My pleasure." He plucked her shirt from the coffee table and handed it over.

Brennan tugged her blouse back into place. "I'm not average in the bedroom either, you know."

"I never figured you were, Bones." Booth chuckled. "Nothing else about you is, so why would that be? My turn for a back rub." Without prompting, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

"We'll be working late tonight," she commented, trading spots with him. "And we can't do this again during office hours, Booth. Not until we've reestablished boundaries between work and our relationship."

"It's worth working late." Booth groaned as her hands began to expertly ply their way across his back. "So worth it, baby …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Styrofoam takeout Thai containers of various shapes and sizes cluttered the floor of Booth's office, beside a small stack of pizza boxes. He and Brennan had really gone to town on the fast food while working their way through the piles of paperwork they were behind on. It had taken most of the afternoon and evening to complete all the standard forms for investigations they'd worked together recently, but, at last, the top of his desk began to reappear.

From the filing cabinet where he was putting away duplicates and triplicates of various case pertinent, Booth glanced over at Brennan, who was on the couch scowling at the same paperwork that had baffled him earlier in the day.

"This makes no sense," she muttered, flipping the pages of one of the foster care records. "How can all four sets of parents be missing? Sixteen people missing and nobody calls it in?"

"Technically, there were only four parents in total," he answered, sliding the drawer shut. "Each of the children was being fostered by a single mother."

Brennan's expression grew darker still. Booth was well aware of how disturbed she was not only by the foster care system's apparent gross negligence with the four children whose murders they were investigating, but also by the strange coincidences that kept cropping up as they worked the case.

"Let's go over the details again," he suggested, dropping into his rolling chair and leaning back.

She nodded and began to recite the facts of the case from memory. "Four children, all under twelve. Each victim had fatal injuries consistent with blunt force trauma, but Hodgins approximates the individual deaths as occurring several days apart from each other."

"The kids were killed separately," Booth translated automatically, though they'd already discussed this aspect of the case from any number of angles.

"That's correct. They were buried in one grave, but unique particulates found in the clothing of each victim indicate that they were each murdered in a different location and then brought to President's Park."

"Killed separately, in different locations, by the same person."

"In all likelihood," she agreed. "Hodgins has found evidence of an unusual pollen particulate on all four victims. He hasn't isolated its origins yet, but believes that the sample is rare enough that it could only have come from one person, residing in a specific area."

"Nothing new so far." Booth propped his feet on the edge of his desk. "What else do we have?"

"Each victim was a ward of the court in a different state. Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico."

"Four foster kids. They were reported missing days apart from each other, but nobody saw the connection because they were from four different states. We can't find any of the foster mothers to interview. Records show they fell out of contact with the foster care system almost immediately after the kids vanished. This isn't adding up. What are we missing here, Bones?"

"Why were the foster mothers not treated as primary suspects in the kidnapping?" Brennan asked angrily. "How could they all just be allowed to disappear when investigations were ongoing?"

Booth shook his head, unable to respond to her very reasonable question. "Social services is going to have to answer for that once we find the murderer."

"The system is broken, Booth," she snapped. "It's so enmeshed in bureaucratic red trap that nobody is truly accountable to anybody. That's how children end up falling through the cracks like this. How can four children just vanish without anybody even noticing? What if I had vanished? Would anybody have realized I was even missing?"

Much as he wanted to take her in his arms and try and soothe her pain away, he knew that would only make her angrier.

"I know this is hitting really close to home for you, Bones," he said quietly instead, "But let's try and focus on the case right now, okay? The only thing we can do for these kids at this point is put their killer in jail. After we do that, then Caroline will have something to base a lawsuit off of."

Brennan rustled through the file again, extracted the information for each individual foster mother and spread it out in front of her.

**Jennifer Montano**

**Abigail Anderson**

**Nicole Richards**

**Elaine Yarmouth**

She studied the details of each mother's age, race, occupation, previous foster care experience, etc., then scrutinized the somewhat distorted photographs that accompanied each profile.

"Booth," she said suddenly, "Can you email the photographs of each of these women to Angela?"

He shrugged and turned toward his computer, pulling up the digital files of each foster mother. "Sure. Why?"

Brennan was already speed-dialing her best friend. "Hey, Ange. Are you still at work? I just emailed you four photographs. I have a suspicion … I need you to run a composite of the pictures through your system, and then isolate individually for common features. Thanks."

She hung up the phone and turned to Booth. "I don't think any of these women actually exists. Look." Brennan held up a scrap of paper on which she'd scribbled each of the names. "When combined, the initials of each name form the words MARY JANE."

Booth sat up straight. "You're saying one woman somehow worked her way into the foster parenting system of four separate states, using a different identity in each place? And she deliberately chose initials that spell out slang for marijuana**?**"

"Like I said, the foster care system is antiquated and broken. There are all kinds of loopholes and ways for people to get around the rules."

"Yeah, but, Bones," he protested, "This is taking things a little far. I mean, you really think that—"

"On two separate occasions, I ended up in homes where my foster fathers had previous records as sex offenders," Brennan said bluntly.

Booth's mind went a deadly shade of white, desperately attempting to blank out what he'd just heard. _"What?"_

It was her turn to shrug, as though she hadn't just dropped a bombshell on him. "People easily find ways to maneuver through the layers of red tape. It's easy to get lost in it and never to be found again. Criminals can find a haven in such a maze."

"_Jesus Christ,_ Bones." Booth stared at her, hands clenching into tights fists. "Did your foster fathers—did they—they had to, or you wouldn't know—so that means they …"

"This isn't an appropriate moment to discuss my past. I only mentioned it in order to prove the point that one woman could very well have committed these murders by exploiting the system's weaknesses. It would be unusual, certainly, and not easy, but also not impossible."

Booth jumped to his feet and slammed the chair backwards into the wall. Rage snapped through him like an electric current. "You're telling me that two men, who were legally sworn to protect you as a child, _molested you_ instead?"

"If you really want to know the details," Brennan answered steadily, "I'll tell you. But not until we've finished this case. I need to be able to compartmentalize, Booth. It's the only way I can function."

"What about what **I** need?" Booth demanded. "The woman I love just told me that—just told me—" his voice cracked and he swore desperately, kicking his overflowing garbage can viciously and sending it flying across the room.

Her cellphone chose that exact moment to ring. Without taking her eyes off him, she answered calmly. "Brennan. That was fast, Ange." Her eyes widened and she waved at Booth's computer. "Open your email. I was right about the common features in each photograph. The murderer most likely disguised herself with crude makeup, wigs and minor plastic surgery. Angela combined all four photographs into a rough composite of the woman we're probably looking for."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan was still talking to Angela when Booth rounded the desk and knocked the phone from her hand.

"Hey!" she exclaimed angrily. "I was still—"

He yanked her against his chest so hard that she stumbled slightly and went face-first into the hard wall of his pectorals. She struggled, not at all happy at being manhandled.

"Let go of me, Booth," she warned.

His grip around her waist didn't loosen even slightly. Instead, it seemed to actually tighten. Brennan elbowed him in the ribs and twisted free as he let go reflexively. Fuming, she yanked at her wrinkled clothes and glared at her partner.

He stood where she'd left him, hands clenching and unclenching, face a mask of fury. "Did they touch you?"

"Yes!" Brennan snapped, still irate. "Both foster fathers did a significant amount of groping before their wives caught them and turned them in. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She regretted the words almost immediately. His face took on a waxy sheen, as though she'd punched him in the stomach.

"I'm okay, Booth." Too late, she realized his reaction had been motivated more by shock than by some misguided possessive instinct. "I'm fine. It was awkward and uncomfortable and frightening at the time, but I survived. It's far from the worst of my memories of my time in foster care."

"Tell me not to look in your file." The harsh quality to his tone was unfamiliar.

"What?"

"Tell me not look in it," he repeated.

"Of course you shouldn't look in my file," Brennan responded in confusion. "It would be an invasion of my privacy, Booth. It had never occurred to me that you might do so without my permission. I shouldn't have to forbid you. I trust that you would never—"

"Temperance, I'm begging you," Booth said hoarsely. "Tell me I can't ever look in your file or at the identities of your foster fathers."

He took another step forward, hands jammed firmly in his pockets. She almost took a step back reflexively, but managed to hold her ground anyway. The familiar planes of her partner's face had shifted into a carefully blank mask behind which anything might be hidden.

With a jolt, Brennan realized the extent of Booth's own personal shields and what he'd been withholding from her throughout their years as partners. He'd offered to share once … _Look, if you really wanna know what I've done I'll tell you, but you better be ready for the truth … _and she'd chosen to avoid hearing the sordid details of his past. _Good choice, Bones_.

Everything he hadn't told her then was now in his eyes. There was no barrier between them—nothing to stop her from seeing into the darkness. Where usually there was humor and compassion, Brennan caught a glint of something else that left her reeling.

_I've done some things._

_I know._

_No, no, you don't._

He saw that she saw. She knew it, even as he stood stock still, unflinching.

"That's right, Bones." His voice was low and rough. "This is why we don't talk about certain things."

_I have to be able to tell someone._

_You will in time, Booth. You will._

She continued to stare at him, seeking something familiar in this stranger's cold gaze. For the first time, she caught a glimpse of who he might once have been. Who he might still be.

"Now would be a good time to run, Bones. I won't hold it against you."

_You know, we all die a little bit, Bones. With each shot, we all die a little bit._

Brennan reached out and yanked the handcuffs from his belt. Before he could react, she snapped them onto his right wrist and attached the other end to herself.

"If I run, you're coming with me."

The mask flickered slightly, but remained in place as Booth glanced down at their linked wrists.

She took a step forward, closing the gap between them. "Brian McKenzie and Wayne Rochester. The names of the men who molested me were Brian Mc—"

"_Don't tell me!" _He lurched backwards, dragging her unintentionally with him.

She regained her balance and got in his face. "Brian McKenzie and Wayne Rochester. Brian McKenzie and Wayne Rochester. Brian McKenzie and Wayne Rochester."

"_Bones—"_

"Those are their names, Booth. I give you permission to look in my file. You can track them down now. Put a bullet in their heads."

He sank onto the couch and covered his face with his free hand. Brennan sat down beside him.

"Why, Bones?"

She pulled his hand from his face, reaching across his lap to lace her fingers through his. There was so much fear and pain in his eyes, she ached for him.

"Because you won't do it. You're a good man."

"You don't know."

"Maybe I don't, but you are a _good _man, Booth," she insisted. "There were reasons for everything you did in the past."

He pulled his hand free and turned his head away.

"I trust you, Booth." She tugged on their interconnected wrists as physical evidence of her statement. "You won't leave Parker without a father in his life." Tears sprang to her eyes and, for once, she didn't attempt not to shed them. They slid down her face unchecked. "You _won't_, Booth. You won't get yourself locked away and leave me alone like my Dad did." Her voice wobbled with emotion. "Tell me you won't, Seeley. Please. Tell me."

Slowly, he turned his head back toward her and she saw the tears on his own face. They glistened in the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes—creases from so many sleepless nights carrying the weight of the world for lesser men—and skated down the strong lines of his cheeks. Brennan's lungs constricted in her chest and she reached for him.

"Booth—"

"I won't." He caught her outstretched hand and lifted it to his mouth. The gentle contact was more searing than some of their most passionate kisses. He grazed his lips across her knuckles, holding her eyes with his own glistening gaze. "I won't break your heart again, Bones. I won't leave Parker without a dad or you without a partner. I'll find a way—" like hers, his voice wavered, "I'll find a way to somehow earn your trust in me."

"We're going to make it, Booth," she said softly, echoing his words from their walk around the lake. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because _we_ have a car," Brennan told him, leaning in with the smallest of grins.

A small smile touched the corners of his lips and he nudged her knee with his. "We have a _car_."

She nodded. "You can drive it as long as you don't turn out to be another psychopath who beheads people and then tries to frame a mythical 17th century witch for his crimes."

"Drive _her_, Bones. Not _it,_" he corrected, smiling more widely. "And I promise, no beheading."

"I have a problem with referring to the car as a female," Brennan mused.

"Why?"

She pulled her hand free and cupped his cheek possessively in her hand. "There's only enough room for one woman in this relationship, Agent Booth. I have jealous tendencies."

The full charm smile had barely started across his lips when she tilted her head and kissed him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N:** **Chapter 54 is really long—it's another 10,000 word monster that I'm going to end up splitting into two pieces. I'm thinking it should be ready to post by Monday or Tuesday, at the very, very latest. Thanks for your patience! As you can see, I AM updating, and will continue to do so, albeit more sporadically than before. =)**


	54. Filling in the blanks

**A/N: This is the beginning of a two-part chapter. The chapters are still long the way I chose to divide them, but I apologize if you were expecting 10000 words in one go. Chapter 55—next—has Brennan's personal skeletons venturing out again, in a big way, and I just really felt like there needed to be a break between some of the emotional stuff in this chapter and that one. 55 will be posted on Thursday, by the way. Promise. I do keep my promises, if you've noticed. =)**

_**Booth's words are in italics during each round of the therapy session in this chapter, to help you follow the dialogue.**_

**Shout out to Leeloo Star for being the first reader to figure out what **_**Mi-ai furat inima**_** means in 53! I award you the very first ever Booth and Brennan bickering trophy, with her leaning in over the diner table until she's about 3 millimeters from his face and him giving her that classic 'You drive me completely crazy and I want to kiss you into the next century' gaze. =)**

**Thanks to everybody who left me such kind, specific reviews for the last chapter. I spend anywhere from 4 to 8 hours on a chapter, in hopes of creating something authentic that people will enjoy, so hearing what you think means so much to me. THANK YOU.**

**And finally, last but most certainly not least, one hundred thousand thank yous to Eternal Destiny for seeing me through both 54 and 55 and helping me keep things realistic and IC. If you haven't read her one shot **_**The Evening in the Dress **_**or her multi-fic **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**, you're missing out **_**majorly **_**(to paraphrase Sweets =) I'm going to keep saying it in my A/Ns, not because she's my beta, but because my wonderful readers deserve the best recommended reading material, and she's it!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The smell of Chinese takeout reached Brennan's nostrils before Booth's footsteps reached her ears. She craned her neck sideways and gave him a brief smile before returning her focus to the skeleton in front of her. He touched her shoulder lightly in greeting.

"Is this the floater from the marina?"

"Yes. Agent Perotta assisted me with the corpse retrieval, as you were otherwise occupied."

"Sorry, Bones. Hacker had a bee in his bonnet about some protocol crap that isn't being followed to the letter at the Bureau." From the corner of her eye, she saw him loosen his tie. "It took half the day just for us to agree on what rules are actually being broken and which are just generally understood guidelines for procedures."

"My day has not been particularly productive either," she confessed, straightening with a wince.

As usual, Booth missed nothing. "How long've you been bent over that body?"

"The majority of the day, but the results I've uncovered are atypical for our work."

"I know the first part of that," he announced, grabbing her shoulders and steering her away from the table. "'Majority of the day' means 'I skipped breakfast and lunch and am also planning on skipping dinner, expect my partner isn't likely to let me.'"

"I ate breakfast!" She dug in her heels. "Wait, Booth. You need to see something before we eat and do Dr. Wyatt's activity."

"C'mon, Bones. What could be more important than Ling's Chinese and catching up with me?"

"Ling's Chinese?" Brennan looked at the takeout bags dangling from his wrist and spotted the bright orange logo of a dragon.

He released her, jamming his thumbs into his belt. "See, Bones, the right answer to that question would have been, 'Nothing is more important, Booth. I missed you too. In fact, I couldn't sleep a wink without you beside me.'"

"Why did you go all the way across town instead of just picking up some food from Joe's?"

"Because Joe's doesn't have organic ingredients or those disgusting sweet red bean pastries you like so much and I was being a good boyfriend, which deserves at least a little kiss, don't you think?" Booth paused and directed a severe look her direction. "You had a nightmare. Didn't you."

"Not here, Booth," she warned. Kissing in the Jeffersonian was relatively okay. Discussing her present difficulties with sleeping was not.

"Fine." The tightness in his voice told her they'd be arguing shortly. "What did you want to show me?"

She retrieved the paperwork for the skeleton she'd been processing when he arrived and handed it over. He shuffled through the pages and shrugged, holding the folder back out to her.

"Didn't speak squint when I went to bed and—surprise—still don't today. Guess those Rosetta Stone tapes are bogus. Try English, Bones. Or Romanian, at least."

"There's nothing wrong with this corpse," Brennan explained, showing him a stack of X-rays. "No bone damage whatsoever."

"What, so she died of something besides broken bones?"

"After so much time working with me, you should know better than that," she chastised him. "Bones show more than the evidence of fractures, Booth. They can provide conclusive evidence of toxins, drug abuse, vitamin deficiencies—"

"Ling's best beancurd is getting cold, Bones. Cut to the chase."

She glared at the baffling corpse in front of them, as though that secondary glance would reveal something she'd missed during the day. "I can't find anything that could have caused this woman's death."

"What do you mean 'can't find anything'?"

"I mean she's clean, Booth." Brennan gestured at the skeleton. "No injuries or remodeling from previous breaks, nothing showed up on the tox screen, no self-defense wounds, nothing. This woman was perfectly healthy when she was thrown into the marina and there's no sign of drowning."

"Wait a minute," Booth said, frowning. "Perotta said you found chains attached to her ankles."

"That's right." She directed his gaze toward the corpse's feet. "Given the lack of abrasions to the bone, the chains were attached post-mortem. Hodgins found evidence of concrete residue, which is likely what was used to weight her down. When the concrete eventually broke into pieces or somehow deteriorated in the river current, she broke free and floated to the surface."

"Bones, people don't just get thrown into the marina weighted down by concrete blocks for no reason. There has to be something."

"That's what I was trying to determine when you interrupted me," Brennan snapped impatiently, unhappy with having her scientific credibility called into question.

"You can keep at it tomorrow," Booth answered, holding up his food offering. "Or you can keep going tonight. I'm going to go get started on my pork eggroll. Pork, Bones. The other white meat—and I don't mean tofu."

He strode off down the hall, dangling the bags temptingly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He removed the containers from the bags and arranged them on the table, wondering if he'd win his wager with himself. Sure enough, the lure of sweet dumplings proved far more attractive than the river polished skeleton. Less than 10 minutes after he started eating, Brennan arrived.

She shrugged off her coat and settled onto the couch beside him, automatically reaching for the box labeled B/C. Booth caught her wrist with his chopsticks and she looked questioningly up at him.

"You can't kiss me after eating those beancurd things. Not until you've brushed your teeth."

"All right."

"Geez, Bones," he sighed. "Take a hint. I missed you last night."

"We agreed to see if spending a night apart would allow us to actually sleep a whole night through."

"No, you made that decision," Booth argued. "Spending the night at each other's places had nothing to do with our lack of sleep. I sleep better when you're around and you sleep better around me. We're not sleeping because of your nightmares. The question is, am I causing those nightmares or did you have one even when I wasn't around?"

Brennan dodged the question, confirming his suspicions. "The food is getting cold."

"Suit yourself." He removed his chopsticks and allowed her to open the takeout box. "Just don't expect any kind of make out action from these lips until—"

She grabbed his lapels, yanking him into her for a heated kiss. Just when he was regaining his balance and getting into things, she let him go and returned calmly to dishing up her meal. There was a definite glint of amusement in her eyes as she lifted a dumpling and chowed down with uncalled for relish.

"Beans aren't supposed to be sweet," Booth muttered, digging into his own meal. "If it's not a rule, it should be."

"I did have a nightmare."

Angela definitely was onto something with her yo-yo metaphor. Booth set his plate down and sat back.

"Was it the same one again?"

"Yes. And no."

"One of these days I'm going to have to explain the concept of a straight answer," he groaned. "You promised you'd call me, Bones."

"I wanted you to get a good night's rest." Unperturbed, she continued to expertly scoop chunks of vegetables and tofu into her mouth with her chopsticks. "Neither of us has slept well recently."

"Yeah, well, I didn't sleep much last night anyway," he said pointedly. "I was worried about you. For some reason, I figured you wouldn't call. Wonder why?"

"If the intent was to give me space, a call would have been an erroneous variable in that equation."

"Bones, this isn't math. There are no equations and variables. You said you'd call and you didn't. You broke your promise."

Finally, she paused in her eating and looked at him. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. "I had good intentions."

"If I'm the bad guy in your dream, Bones, don't you think I at least deserve to hear about it?" he demanded.

"You're right. I'm sorry. If it happens again in the next few days, I'll let you know."

"Why just the next few days?"

She resumed eating. "My assumption was that we'd start spending the night together again, before too long."

"Aha!" Booth stabbed a chopstick into the air in delight. "Youmissed me."

"It was barely 8 hours apart, Booth. I simply meant that Week 6 is approaching and we'll more than likely spend the night with each other quite frequently after that."

"Just admit. You missed me."

"The notion that I'm incapable of spending a night on my own is patently absurd."

"C'mon, Bones. Try it. Say 'I missed you, Booth.'"

"I did not."

"You did. You missed me, Bones."

"I'm going to make you try some beancurd if you don't stop acting like you're thirteen," she threatened.

He chuckled to himself and found that the noodle dish he retrieved tasted way better suddenly, even without any MSG. "Definitely missed me. So what was different about the nightmare, Bones?"

"You were still shoveling dirt onto my coffin."

So much for better tasting noodles. The food turned to straw in Booth's mouth and he had zero appetite suddenly.

"However, this time you were crying."

"Okay, that makes no sense whatsoever!" Booth exclaimed, shoving his dish aside. "First I'm just plain evil Taffett. Now I'm still Taffett, but with a soft side to my serial killer way of doing things? Great. Just great. Maybe tomorrow I'll post pictures of my ugly mug all over the coffin glass, to keep you company." He stood up from the couch. "Are you done eating yet, Bones? I'd really like to get this Gordon-Gordon activity over with, so maybe then we can get back to normal. As normal as our lives ever get, anyway."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The frustration in her partner's voice was evident, and only matched Brennan's own confusion at the recurring nightmare.

"All right," she agreed, putting aside her own half-finished dinner. "I can finish the rest on our first session break. Did you bring your envelope?"

He dug into his pocket and extracted a folded piece of paper. "I didn't read them, Professor Brennan, so don't look at me that way."

"Dr. Wyatt suggested a non-threatening, but somewhat unfamiliar environment. He said it would help break down preconceived notions of each other, though I don't understand his reasoning at all."

"Angela's office has a carpet and blinds," Booth suggested. "Non-threatening and unfamiliar enough for you?"

She nodded and they headed for Angela's office, carrying several boxes of takeout for Brennan. Arriving in what the artist had, essentially, turned into a kind of cozy laboratory den, they locked the door and bickered briefly about where to sit.

"Why does it have to be on the floor?" Booth complained. "Won't back to back chairs be enough?"

"He said something about physical contact being important. We have to follow his rules if this exercise is going to have any chance at working, Booth."

"Fine," he grumbled, arranging himself awkwardly on the floor in the center of Angela's colorful Tibetan yak wool rug—one of several unique wedding gifts from Brennan.

Brennan sat down behind him and pulled out her own envelope of open-ended statements. "I have envelopes 1 and 3. You have 2 and 4. So I begin."

She linked her arms with his snugly, ignoring his continued whining about her getting to go first and being uncomfortable and finding the whole activity ludicrous. "Remember, you have to fill in the statement without thinking about it, then I take a turn and we move on. All questions have to be pertinent to our relationship as much as possible and there's no discussion of our responses. Ready?"

"Who would ever be _ready _for this kind of thing?" he muttered. "Go ahead."

"**I believe."**

"in God."

"Booth, you're supposed to repeat the whole statement. And it has to pertain to our relationship."

"God pertains to everything."

"Try again."

"Who made you judge and jury? Fine. **I believe this is a seriously stupid activity."**

She yanked away from him and stood up, heading for the door. Booth chased after her.

"Bones! Bones, Bones—" he grabbed her arm before she could leave. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand why we need to use this exercise to talk when we've been talking plenty already. Haven't we?"

"We're supposed to have intercourse in a week, Booth, and I'm having nightmares about you burying me alive. I hate psychology, but even I can see the need for some kind of intervention at this point."

"You're right." He nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. Come back to the circle of trust or whatever the hell thing he called it."

"I think he just called it the floor, Booth." Brennan allowed him to lead her back to their original spot, where they sat back down together and joined arms again.

"**I believe**," she began again.

Booth sighed. _"Okay. I believe we're eventually going to get through all this crap and the other end of the tunnel is going to be a real sight to see."_

"I believe—or I'm closer to believing than before—that monogamy is a possibility."

"_That's one of the nicest things you've ever said, Bones."_

"There's not supposed to be any discussion. **I believe."**

"_What, again?"_

"It's on the list a second time. **I believe**, Booth."

"_I believe …"_

"You're not supposed to think about your answer."

"_I don't believe in just anything!" he snapped. "You get a few extra seconds since you can think about the statement while I'm answering. It's going to take me a minute—okay, okay, I got it. I believe in us."_

"I don't understand that statement."

"_You're not supposed to. No discussion, remember? __**I believe**__, Bones …"_

"I believe—it's certainly not an appropriate word choice, but I'm limited by the parameters of the activity—I believe our partnership seems to be being strengthened by some of our present difficulties, rather than diminished, as I'd feared. **I believe. **Yes, again."

"_I thought Gordon Gordon would be more creative than this. He couldn't come up with anymore open-ended statements? I can give him a couple hundred."_

"Booth …"

"_I believe in you, Bones."_

Another part of that endless glacier within her melted. "Thank you, Booth."

"_You're going to come to a point where all this hell makes some kind of sense and, if I'm lucky, I'll be there to see it happen. What happened to no discussion, anyway?"_

"I believe you are one of the best men, if not the best man, I've ever known. **I dream.**"

"_I dream of you changing your mind about getting married."_

"I'm not going to, Booth."

"_The rules are no discussion. Or I quit."_

"Sorry. I dream … I dream …"

"_No thinking …"_

"I don't dream very much, Booth. I stopped dreaming when all my dreams kept falling apart. Reality is safer."

"_Sorry." His voice was soft with remorse and he bumped the back of his head very gently against hers in apology._

"I dream of understanding what you see behind people's faces. Being unable to read expressions can be quite constraining. **I dream.**

"_I dream of finding a way to help you dream again, Bones."_

"I dream of intercourse. With you."

"_Whoa, Bones—"_

"**I dream."**

"_I dream of doing a good enough job with Parker that he looks back on his childhood and smiles."_

It wasn't directly pertinent to their relationship, but she didn't question him.

"I dream of having a child with you one day and learning how to parent from your expertise."

"_Thanks, Bones. I dream about having a kid with you too, for the record. Anytime you wanna start trying …"_

"**I want."**

"_That works. I want a kid with you. A little girl with your hair and eyes and brain, and my sense of humor."_

"I want you to realize you possess so much more than just a sense of humor and athletic abilities. Our child would inherit many other qualities from you."

"_Let me guess. The next one is __**I want **__again, right?"_

"Right."

"_I want to spend every day of the next fifty years living and working with you, until we finally get to retire and sit on a porch somewhere and watch our grandkids run around, in between your ongoing consultations on digs and novel writing, of course."_

"I want to believe that's possible. **I want."**

"_I want you so bad, Bones, it's hard to walk lately."_

She smiled at his unexpected foray. "I want you to prove that the laws of physics can be broken in bed. **I want."**

"_I want to find a way to end your nightmares, Bones. All of them. But especially the one where I'm doing the burying." His voice was suddenly raw with pain._

"I want to understand your patience with me. You've waited an exceedingly long time for me, Booth. I don't understand it."

"_No discussion," he chided, but squeezed her elbow with his arm warmly. "What's next?"_

"There aren't any more open-ended statements on my paper. We're finished with the first round, I think."

"_So we get a five minute break now?"_

"Yes. I don't see how this activity is going to help end my nightmares, however."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth unhooked his arms from hers and scooted around until they were face to face. "Guess what?"

She raised an eyebrow silently.

"I want you to enough to put up with the taste of beancurd. If that isn't love, I don't know what is."

He slid a hand under her hair, smiling, and angled her head so their lips were aligned. "Are you sure you didn't miss me even a little bit in your bed?" he teased, just barely brushing her mouth with his.

"I was surprised to wake and not find you beside me." Her words whispered warmly across his skin.

That was probably the closest to an admission he was going to get.

She leaned forward to kiss him more easily and they wound up sprawled on the carpet with her halfway on top of him. Her low-cut blouse held little back, the way they were positioned, and he saw red. Literal red. Red lace, encasing pale, full breasts that were just unfairly close at hand.

There was no thinking on Booth's part, other than making sure Brennan _definitely _missed him in her bed that evening. He dragged her further on top of him and trailed his lips across the tops of her breasts, just above the red fabric. He ventured no further, but the startled gasp and her back arching told him she was plenty surprised. He smiled, enjoying arousing her with slow, feather-light caresses of his lips, coupled with the occasional straying of his hands under her blouse into forbidden territory.

When her alarm went off, it was hard to tell who groaned louder. Brennan rolled away, but not before Booth kissed her once more thoroughly and growled, "Promise me you'll miss me tonight."

"I won't have to miss you if you stay with me."

Just like that, she turned the tables on him, without even giving him the courtesy of a small warning about the landslide ahead. He was almost glad when she sat down on the rug again and waited for him to join her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_He started the second round. __**"I hate."**_

"I hate worrying about you constantly."

"_Aw. You worry about me, Bones?"_

"It's absurd. You're highly skilled and are unlikely to get injured on the job. Nevertheless, I worry irrationally, and I dislike it. No discussion, remember?"

"_Love isn't always rational, Bones. That right there is you loving me. I hate that I couldn't stop your father from leaving again."_

"I know you tried, Booth."

"_I hate it anyway. __**I hate."**_

"I hate that I seem to have become so dependent on you. I've never really depended on anybody before, other than the rest of the squints."

"_I hate that you think that being in love and wanting to be with me means you're going to lose your independence. I really hate that, Bones. __**I hate."**_

"I hate that you feel the need to constantly protect me. Admittedly, however, I also feel the need to protect you."

"_I hate that it's been like pulling teeth to get to the good stuff with you." Some of his anger leached out into the statement and, for a change, he didn't try to soften it. "I'm in it for the long haul, Bones, but that doesn't mean it's easy being a wind-up toy sometimes. __**I love."**_

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Booth. It's not my intention to treat you in such a manner."

"_I know it isn't. Your turn. __**I love."**_

"I love … I love the way you love, Booth. Not just me. Everybody. Your heart is so open to the world, in spite of all you've seen. Is that nonsensical?"

"_No, baby. It isn't. I love how you see something in me that even I don't. Last night in my office? That makes up for six years and more. I'm not sure I've ever had someone trust me quite that fully. __**I love.**__"_

"This is superficial, but I mean it sincerely. I love your hands. You're always doing something with them—waving, snapping, clapping, tossing something in the air. I enjoy seeing them in motion, almost as much as I enjoy having them wrapped around me."

_He smiled and reached back to briefly touch her hands with his. "If we're doing body parts, I love your eyes. They do this squinty thing where they're half angry and half amused—like you want to kiss me and then kill me and then kiss me back to life again—and that's when I want to break every rule and just get to Week 6 already. You wanna try __**I love **__again, since I don't think Gordon Gordon meant body parts?"_

"Okay. I love that in addition to my partner and boyfriend, you're also my friend."

"_I love where we are right now, Bones. Even if I'm not getting much sleep, I'd rather be awake and with you than asleep and not. We're finally heading in the same direction, in spite of everything. I love that. __**I love.**__"_

"I love your faith. I don't understand it, nor do I agree with it. But I find its steadfastness comforting. You believe as much as I don't and that doesn't appear to be about to change. I love your commitment to something, whether or not I think the actual concept has any validity."

"_Hey Bones, can we backtrack to __**I hate **__for one second?"_

Her voice was uncertain. "All right."

"_First off, I love what you just said. Because I hate when you make fun of what I believe. You can disagree and argue with any of the Catholic tenets, but just don't mock something that important to me. That's all. Okay?"_

"I'm not certain I understand your definition of mocking, but if you call me on it next time, I'll do my best to stop, so long as it doesn't contravene my own personal views on a non-existent deity."

"_Deal. Back to I love. My turn—I love that you lit all those candles for Parker, Bones. You don't believe and you did it anyway. That meant … a lot to me."_

"Angela shouldn't have told you."

"_Don't be mad at her, Bones. She was trying to get me to see reason after I'd ended things."_

"I hate that she told you. That was personal."

"_Bones, try to understand how much knowing means to me. Candles don't mean much unless you know they've been lit. I mean, they do. It's nice when strangers light candles for other strangers, who'll never know about the gesture. But to actually be aware that somewhere in DC there were 300 candles lighting up the night for my sick little boy? That's huge. And I'm really glad Angela told me."_

"I'm glad it meant something to you." She sounded moderately appeased.

"_It really did, Bones. Next statement. __**I'm afraid."**_

"I'm afraid you'll eventually get tired of me."

"_Bones—"_

"_I'm_ tired of me lately, Booth. It's only recently become obvious how egotistical and insensitive I can be. How you've endured being a yo-yo for six years, I don't understand. How you intend to endure fifty more is beyond comprehension. No discussion."

"_Oh, we're discussing that," he said firmly. "Those 300 candles are why I stuck around, Bones. I always knew something like that was inside you. You do love like I love. You're just not quite as showy about it. You're not deliberately playing games with me, like some women have. You're … confused. I can live with that. I couldn't live without it, honestly. My turn. I'm afraid I'm not good enough for you."_

"I don't understand."

"_You don't have to. __**I'm afraid."**_

"I'm afraid all the time. I'm afraid of losing my job, of losing my friends, of losing the life I've worked so hard to establish. I'm afraid of being an orphan all over again. I'm afraid that I drive people away. I'm afraid that I don't work hard enough. I'm afraid my novels are pulp trash. I'm afraid the only impact I'll have on the world is in a laboratory. I'm afraid of sleeping because of the nightmares. I'm afraid of being awake because even then I'm never free. I'm afraid that if people—especially you—know how afraid I am, they'll dismiss me as needy. It's so much easier to pretend not to be. Please don't ask me to discuss this."

"_I'm afraid I'm not a good enough father to Parker. I'm afraid I'll never be a good enough partner, boyfriend, or maybe even husband for you. I'm afraid you'll get hurt when we're out in the field together, or when you're on a dig by yourself. I'm afraid you'll realize one day that I don't really fit into your world of squints—I stick out like a sore thumb—and that there are much smarter fish in the sea than me. I'm afraid that if I'm not the alpha male on the platform, you might not even notice me. I'm afraid the door to my past is going to swing wide open one day and wash you—me—us away. I'm afraid I hurt my little brother by standing up for him so many years. I'm afraid my faith isn't as strong as it should be. I'm afraid I'll get killed on the job one day and leave my son without a father. I'm afraid constantly too, Bones, and I don't want people to know it anymore than you do."_

_**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**_

Silence hovered awkwardly between them until Booth cleared his throat and gruffly commented, "That was the end of round 2."

He slid his arms from their comfortable grip on hers and stood up. "You want coffee?" When she nodded and started to get to her feet, he waved her back down. "I need a minute, Bones. That was heavy."

As he pushed open Angela's door and left the room, Brennan opened a box of leftover takeout. His description of the emotional weight in the room was surprisingly appropriate. The atmosphere felt heavy, metaphorically charged at it was with revelations she'd never expected to share with anybody.

She was still hungry, but some of the flavor of the food had either vanished as it cooled, or her tastebuds had—totally unscientifically—somehow become connected to her unsettled emotions, resulting in an overall bland flavor to her eggroll. After a full day with little other than a handful of sunflower seeds and an apple, she made herself at least finish this one dish.

Booth walked back in just as she was discarding the final remains of rice and lo mein in the trash. He held out a large to-go cappuccino from the diner. "Extra cinnamon, nutmeg and foam on top with 2 packs of weird-looking fancy sugar. Sugar should be white, Bones. I don't buy this freaky brown shit."

She accepted the drink and hid her smile behind the extra foam that he always remembered she liked. "Sugar isn't naturally that color, Booth. It's treated with a kind bleach in order to strip any impurities from the grains and to prevent pests during shipping."

His own cup of black coffee paused right before it hit his lips. "Bleach? Like clean-your-bathtub bleach? In my sugar?"

Brennan laughed and sat down on the edge of Angela's futon. "No. Sulfur dioxide is what's usually used. The only real difference between white and brown sugar is the molasses. I don't prefer brown because it's organic. It has a slightly sweeter, spicier flavor."

Unconvinced, Booth glared at his drink as though it had been poisoned. "So this stuff isn't going to cause any, uh, shrinkage?"

She snorted and wound up with foam on her nose and all over her chin. "Too much caffeine can lower sperm count, but yours is over the top already so we shouldn't have to worry. Your penis and testicles are safe, Booth."

He sighed with relief and started to bring the drink to his mouth again.

"If caffeine _did _have a negative effect on genital size, I would, of course, be removing the cup from your hands."

Coffee sprayed across the room and Booth yelped as hot liquid sloshed across his hands and down his shirt. "Jesus, Bones!" He hopped around the room cussing and howling.

Brennan looked at him innocently. "What? Your genitals are no longer only your concern, Booth. With Week 6 so close by, I have a vested interest in preserving their integrity. Perhaps I could convince you to cut back on meat consumption until we finalize our experiment, in order to ensure the accuracy of our results?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The squinty little minx had deliberately set him up. Booth wanted to be mad at her for the coffee all over his dress shirt, but the laughter gleaming in her eyes only made her ten times more attractive than usual. She was _so_ pleased with herself at her unusually successful little joke … Happy Brennan made for a very happy Booth, in more ways than one.

"Oh, our results will be accurate," he promised her.

Brennan continued to sip contentedly at her cappuccino, unaware of his intentions.

He began to unbutton his shirt. By the second button, she'd raised her eyes from the foam and was staring at his fingers. Buttons number and four slipped free, followed by five and six. Brennan's eyes widened perceptibly as he tugged the shirt from his slacks, which required him to loosen his belt.

Booth freed the final few buttons and stood there with the shirt gaping wide, hands on his hips. The way she was looking at him made it hard to carry on his own little tease. He could feel actual heat spreading across his skin as Brennan's eyes darted across his chest appreciatively.

'Cute' wasn't usually a word he would use to describe his partner. Multiple adjectives, such as seriously sexy and ridiculously hot sprang to mind, but definitely not cute. But that's exactly how she looked at the moment, halfway hidden behind her cup of coffee, trying to pretend she wasn't interested, with a smear of foam across her upper lip.

He shrugged the stained garment from his shoulders and advanced on her slowly. "I've got coffee all over my shirt, Dr. Brennan." He extracted the cup from her hand and set it at a safe distance from the futon, then leaned forward to block her in against the couch with his arms. Slowly, he pressed her backwards, eyes locked firmly with hers, until she had no more room to move. "I might get blisters. Hot coffee can do that, you know." Booth braced one knee on the outside of her thigh and used it for leverage as he grabbed Brennan's waist and swiftly maneuvered her beneath him, following her down so he was sprawled halfway on top of her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I believe the expression is 'Kiss it and make it all better'?"

Her words were hotter than freshly brewed coffee.

Brennan scanned his chest with playful concern. "Where did it spill?"

"Here." Booth touched his collarbone, where the first splash of coffee had landed.

She caught his shoulder and pulled him closer, so she could press her lips warmly to the spot he indicated. Booth swallowed a groan at the impossibly arousing effect of such a small caress.

"Where else?"

He pointed to his shoulder silently.

Her attentive mouth settled on the spot, sucking lightly at his singed skin. It was impossible to hold back a gasp this time.

"Where else, _baby_?" Brennan crooned, just a tad evilly.

_Thank you, God_, Booth sighed, pointing to another spot on his chest. He was closing his eyes and giving himself over to the erotic ministrations of his multi-talented partner when her teeth sank into his right pectoral none-too-gently.

"Not nice!" He scolded and would have pulled away, except for Brennan's arms locked tightly on his shoulders. Her eyes gleamed. She had clearly decided to have lunch, with him as the main course. Her teeth weren't gentle, but the follow-up as her tongue swirled out to alternately torture and soothe Booth was worth the pain of her tiny bites.

When he couldn't take her aggressive first aid treatment anymore, he cupped the back of her neck and dragged her up for a fierce, possessive kiss that was intended to reassert some sort of masculine dominance, but wound up just being another example of how she could hold her own with him in any physical activity.

Brennan obviously had no trouble with a little rough foreplay. Her heels locked around his ankles as she met his tongue thrust for thrust; her nails scored down his back, drawing a combination of a growl and a moan from Booth.

"Don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way," he pleaded against her lips. "It's total hyperbole, okay?"

"Nice word, Booth." She rewarded him with a gentler kiss. "What are you referring to?"

"I just—" he buried his head in her shoulder as she kneaded his delts expertly, reducing his previously rigid muscles to the consistency of jell-o. "Oh, God, Bones … _right there, baby—ahhhhh … _Marry me," he groaned, refusing to look up in fear of what he would see.

"So long as that's hyperbole, I'll take it as a compliment," Brennan answered without a trace of fear in her voice.

Relieved to the extreme, if more than a little disappointed, Booth turned his head and kissed the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "I don't think I've told you I love you yet today. Have I?"

"No."

"I love you." He caught her lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

Brennan sighed into his mouth and stroked the back of his head. "Thank you, Booth."

"For what?"

"For the hyperbole."

"So if I say it again, as hyperbole, it's okay?" he asked cautiously. Somewhere inside of him, a plan was unconsciously forming. Maybe if she heard the words often enough, in a safe context, she'd grow less afraid. Or maybe, a yes would slip out accidentally …

"As long as it's not too often."

He propped himself up one arm and decided honesty was, as usual, the best policy. "Look, Bones. You know I want to marry you." He held up a hand when she tried to interrupt. "I know marriage isn't in the cards. All I'm saying is, love wasn't either, and you've changed your mind about that."

"Booth, I think that marriage is something you need to have a reason to enter into." The sincerity in her eyes was piercing. He knew she had no desire to hurt him. She was just being … Brennan. "I've never found that reason, nor do I expect to."

"Just try and keep an open mind. Give me a chance to maybe show you a different way of looking at things." He was terrified that he was pushing too hard, too fast, but something had taken hold of his brain in the last five minutes and he couldn't stop talking. "No pressure at all here, Bones, but maybe we could revisit the question in a year or so? See if things have changed?"

"And if they haven't?" Uncertainty clouded her previously relaxed gaze.

He kept his response light. "Then we keep on going exactly the way we are right now. Nothing changes, except there'll be a few less clothes by then, I hope."

"I don't want you to be disappointed," she said quietly.

"I will be, if I haven't convinced you otherwise," he admitted, "But I'll love you the same anyway. You've been honest with me from day one, Bones, so I won't feel hurt, or played. I've got to be honest with you too, so you know what I'm dreaming, even if I'm okay with it never happening. No secrets between partners, right?"

"Right." She smoothed her hands across the small welts on his shoulders raised by the burning coffee and her teeth. "I appreciate your honesty. I can promise to try and keep an open mind, even if I don't expect to change my thinking. That's fair."

A tidal wave of relief swamped Booth and he struggled to keep her from seeing it. The fact that she was still underneath him and not on a jet halfway to Guatemala was more than a little overwhelming. They'd come so far … he dared to dream they'd get even farther someday.

"Thanks, Bones." He smiled at her and was glad to see trust in her eyes, albeit couched with lingering doubts. "Ready for round 3? It's definitely been more than 5 minutes."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Chapter 55—the conclusion of the therapy session—will be posted by Thursday, I promise. **

**Readers requested casework—I'm doing my best to comply with the requests. It's an area I'm inexpert in, so I'd much appreciate knowing whether the above fulfills that need for those of you who asked for its inclusion.**

**For those of you anxiously awaiting Brennan's next date—Chapter 57 is when it happens. I've also finished outlining the rest of the story as I've imagined it, and Week 6 should occur between Chapters 63 and 65. So now you have a concrete timeframe to watch for. Oh and, in case it wasn't obvious, Week 6 will actually be several weeks (meaning several chapters), as Booth and Brennan take that long-promised vacation. =)**


	55. Naked metaphorically

**A/N: As promised—an update on Thursday. =) This is part B of Chapter 54. Again, Booth's words are in italics during the therapy session only.**

**Shout out to Clare-smfc1877, who became the 200****th**** person to favorite my story. Thank you! *ecstatically happy dance***

**Please make sure you read the A/N after the chapter. It's **_**really **_**long—yes, even longer than this— but contains important information about what's happening with the story, now that school is starting back for me. Don't worry—it's not ending yet and I'm not rushing things. Just read the note so you know the exact specifics on updates. You guys know I hold to what I promise.**

**Merci, gracias, xie xie, xie xie, **_**xie xie**_** to all the readers who left thoughtful feedback for 54. And a huge, HUGE thanks to Eternal Destiny for her editorial contributions and patient hand-holding. I continue to point a flashing red neon arrow for readers in the direction of her recent one-shot **_**The Evening in the Dress **_**and her latest multi-chap **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**. She's put in long hours of research for the multi-fic and it shows in the plot authenticity, character development and careful pacing. Her gift for one liners, guaranteed to make you laugh out loud, is an added bonus. =)**

**ANGST WARNING: Remember what Brennan revealed to Booth when she handcuffed herself to him in his office? We get more details on that here. If, as a couple readers mentioned, that was too tough to read, you may want to skip Brennan's "something I've never told you."**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Once both partners had rearranged themselves on the floor back to back and arms linked, Brennan unfolded the paper from envelope #3.

"**Something I've never told you is."**

"_Wow," Booth whistled. "Sorry, that one's going to take me a moment."_

She didn't pressure him and waited patiently until he finally spoke again.

"_Okay. We're being honest here, right, Bones?"_

"As always."

"_This is going to sound kind of harsh. I don't mean it that way, so just let me finish before you get hurt. Okay?"_

"Such a preface automatically makes me nervous," she had to admit. "But go ahead."

"_Something I've never told you is what happened after we went our separate ways the evening you drop-kicked me from the steps of the Hoover Building."_

"That's harsh," Brennan agreed, wincing.

"_Well, so was your reaction. It took a lot of guts for me to say what I did, and getting shoved away—literally—like that was like having my heart cut out of my chest with pruning shears. We're past that now—I'm not angry, Bones—but I just need you to know what happened afterwards."_

Her own heart ached at the pain in his voice. "Okay."

"_There was no way I was going home after that. I drove all the way to the house where Pops raised Jared and me."_

"All the way to Pittsburgh?"

"_Right. When I got there, it was 4:00 am. The house is abandoned, so it didn't matter. I broke a window and climbed inside. I don't know why, exactly. I needed to be somewhere different. Somewhere with good memories. There wasn't much furniture, except a folding table. I sat at the table and I cried, Bones."_

He was a proud man and she knew what it must have cost him to make that admission.

"_All I could think of was being a failure. I was never good enough for my father, no matter what I did. Jared thought I was a loser for years, even though I did the best I could to be a good role model for him. Rebecca didn't want me to be her husband, or even a part of Parker's life at first. I thought I was past those things until that evening. Realizing you didn't want me either …" _

Booth exhaled harshly and Brennan reached back to squeeze his hands in a desperate attempt to apologize without interrupting.

"_I know you said it was to protect me. But I just—I just—I sat there and wondered what was wrong with me that the most important people in my life didn't want me. I wondered if Parker would wind up feeling the same way."_

"Booth!" she cried out his name in horror, unable to stay silent, rules be damned. "Parker loves you. He _adores _you, Booth. You're an amazing dad. I don't know anything about your father, but from what little you've told me, he was too mired in his own alcoholic pain to love you. It had nothing to do with you being a failure as a son. Jared was a confused teenager reeling from being abused and abandoned, but that doesn't excuse him for being an ass. I don't know why Rebecca rejected you. I can tell you, though, that my own rejection was because I thought I wasn't good enough for you. Not the other way around, Booth. You're an incredible man. The depth of your commitment to everything and everybody in your life—your values, your compassion, your work ethic-any woman would be lucky to have you. I don't know why—" she choked up and had to regroup for a moment before continuing. "I don't understand why, after the way I hurt you, you still chose me. I'm sorry."

_His voice was rough with emotion as he stroked her hand. "Don't cry, Bones. You've come a long way since then. We both have. I didn't mean to make you sad. Blame it on Gordon Gordon's idea of therapy."_

"I'm glad you told me." With her hands occupied, she turned her head and wiped her face on her shirt. "Booth, why did you choose me after everything?"

"_Tell you what, Bones. I'll write you a letter answering that one. Okay? Or we'll be here all night."_

"A letter?" She liked the sound of that.

"_An old-fashioned love letter for the Jeffersonian's bestselling author. Just promise me you won't edit it for grammar and spelling mistakes. My English degree was a few years back."_

"All right. My turn. Something I've never told you … this will also be harsh, Booth, but not in regards to our relationship."

"_Okay." His hand tightened around hers in preparation._

"I'm afraid to tell you. I know you'll be hurt."

"_Fair's fair. I made you cry. Let's have it, Bones."_

"Something I've never told you about in detail is the night my foster parents locked me in the trunk of the car."

Brennan felt his spine go rigid against hers. Booth knew the barest details of that night, courtesy of their impromptu scar-sharing session with Sweets after the Skalle murder case.

"_Go on."_

"The couple—Jean and Brian—were already angry at me because I missed the bus for school that morning and they had to drive me. I was up until 4:00 am studying for an exam and the lights went out in the middle of the night, so my alarm was reset without my being aware of it. I woke up 30 minutes late, just in time to see the bus go by my window."

He said nothing, but Brennan could feel the tension exuding from him as he waited for her to continue.

"They were unhappy at that inconvenience and when I got home things were tense. I tried to do my homework, but they kept interrupting me with petty things like why my laundry was still in the dryer, or whether I'd set my alarm properly the next morning, or, sarcastically, whether they should pack lunch for me."

_Booth cursed in disgust._

"Eventually, I decided to wait until later to do my work and went downstairs for dinner. We had lasagna. I still remember because it was overcooked and stuck badly to the pan. It took me a long time to scrub it clean and I got in trouble because the pan ended up being scratched. Jean yelled at me—she warned me about breaking any dishes, like I told you-and went to take a bath. I thought I could finally get the dishes done without being interrupted, but Brian came into the room. He was making superficial conversation and it was actually nice to have someone being moderately kind and keeping me company."

"_I don't like where this is going at all, Bones. Is this Brian's last name McKenzie, by any chance?"_

She ignored his question. "He stepped up behind me, really close, and started whispering sexually explicit things in my ear. I was really naïve at the time. I don't think I understood half of what he was implying, but I knew about anatomy and, in such close proximity, he was obviously very aroused. I started washing a large casserole dish and Jean must have flushed the toilet upstairs because the water got really hot. But the dish didn't slip from my fingers until Brian put his hands under my shirt."

Booth exploded upwards, cursing a blue streak, and it was only with a frantic struggle that Brennan managed to keep him from breaking free.

"_Christ, Bones! How can you expect me to sit still after that? I think I'm gonna be sick."_

She finally understood why Dr. Wyatt wanted them to avoid eye contact during this exercise. It was so much easier to talk without seeing the pain in her partner's eyes mirroring hers. "Please, Booth. Sit back down. I need to finish. I've never told anybody this before. You're disturbed by Brian's actions, but the nightmares I still have aren't about anything he did."

Reluctantly, he settled back against her, trying so hard to contain himself that she could feel him actually shaking.

"I dropped the dish and it shattered at the same moment that Jean walked in and, I guess, saw what Brian was doing. I really don't remember how I went from the kitchen to the car—it's all still confused in my head, but there was a lot of screaming from everybody. I was to blame for their failing marriage, their poor finances, the house falling apart. Everything."

"_God, Bones—"_

"Somehow they stuffed me into the trunk of their old sedan. That's one of the reasons I took up martial arts, so that nobody can ever overpower me that easily again. Sometimes I dream about the trunk closing over me. My face was pressed into the floor and it was so cramped I had a hard time turning around. I can actually taste the carpet of the trunk in my dreams. It was late summer and it was so hot in there. I screamed and I screamed, but nobody came, Booth. I screamed until my throat was raw and my face was covered in mucous and sweat. Nobody came. Not for days. I tried not to, but I eventually had to relieve myself, and I also vomited repeatedly. I can still smell the urine and vomit on that thin carpet and the way it mingled with car fumes. When they finally released me, Jean gave me back to social services and turned Brian in."

"_Please let me hold you, Bones." There were tears in his voice. "I'm begging you. My heart just got chewed up and spit out by a wood chipper."_

"Maybe it's selfish of me, Booth, but I can't handle seeing you cry when I'm already a mess. If you want to hold me, put your arms around me from behind."

He did as she asked, unlinking their arms and sliding in behind her, so she was pressed with her back to his chest and his head rested on top of hers. He murmured endearments that, under any other circumstance would have made her angry but, in this situation, were exactly right as she cried yet again, shedding more of the endless tears that were playing such a big part in her life of late.

"_Shhh, baby. Oh, God, Bones. Bones. Bones, sweetheart. Shh. Go ahead and cry. I've got you. I'm here, baby. I've got you. Shhh. Jesus, baby, I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I wish I could've been there. I feel like I should've protected you even way back then, before we met. I'll take care of you, baby. God help me, I'll kill anybody who tries to hurt you again. I'll keep you safe. I swear I will, Bones."_

His irrational, loving babbling made her cry harder, tears spilling across her face and leaking down onto the arms that held her so tenderly.

"I hate crying," she snarled in frustration at her total lack of composure. "I **hate** constantly crying."

"_It's only till we get past the hardest stuff. You need to cry. You've been holding all this back for way too many years. The tears will slow down eventually. Go ahead, Bones. Shh. Let go. I'll catch you, sweetheart. You've been holding on tightly for so long. You have to be tired. Just let go, baby. I'm right here."_

She did, releasing herself completely into the care of his capable, accepting embrace as the sobs tore through her almost animalistically. The sounds coming from her didn't sound like her own. If she'd been in a different frame of mind, Brennan might have recognized the anguished wails as those of a young, terrified Temperance.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth had his own ways of compartmentalizing. Part of him was in Angela's office, holding Brennan, talking to her, rocking her in his protective embrace, his heart being ground into fresh dust at the sound of her anguished crying. Words poured from him in his attempts to reassure her, comfort her, soothe her. The other part had already made a determination that vengeance had to be extracted from the men who had hurt his partner. He would respect her wishes and keep them alive and himself out of jail, but they would still pay dearly. Eventually, her sobs died away and he sat quietly, still holding her, waiting to see what else she needed that he could possibly give.

"Booth." Brennan's weary voice drifted up to him. "We should finish the exercise."

"Are you sure?"

"I can't do this another night, Booth. We need to finish this today."

"Whatever you want, Bones. Anything."

"Can we stay sitting like this?"

"Whoa. Bones breaking a rule. Stop the presses," he teased gently, kissing her temple. "Sure. Any excuse to hold you in my arms is a good one."

She settled further back against him, unaware of the leaps and bounds his heart did every time she showed her trust with that kind of a gesture. "It's your turn, Booth. Again, the statement is **something I've never told you.**"

"_Something I've never told you before is one of my sexual fantasies."_

Brennan twisted upwards to look at him through red, swollen eyes. "You're trying to make me feel better."

_He shrugged. "Two birds with one stone. You feel better and I get brownie points for not being a prude. There's not a lot to it, Bones, so don't be disappointed and think that's all I've got to give. It's just something I think about a lot."_

"You very rarely disappoint me, Booth, and I have no concerns about your sexual prowess, regardless of the level of intensity in this particular fantasy. Tell me."

"_Okay." He closed his eyes, admittedly a little embarrassed to be verbalizing such private thoughts. "We're camping. We've been out in the woods for a couple of days, and you don't have any makeup or other girly stuff around. Your hair is all curly, like it gets when you don't mess with it, and you're getting a tan from wearing shorts and tank tops."_

"Back to nature," Brennan mused. "Interesting."

_He flushed. "Don't interrupt, Bones. This isn't easy. Anyway, I get up early one morning and go fishing. It starts to rain really hard and by the time I get back to camp, I'm soaking wet. You're not in the tent anymore and I freak out, concerned that you're out in the storm, lost somewhere. Then I turn around and you've ducked inside the tent behind me. You went looking for me and followed my tracks back home."_

"I like that I'm the one who attempted to do the rescuing in this fantasy."

"_Shh! You're worried about me being wet; I'm worried about you being wet. We put our arms around each other and hold each other for a few minutes. Then I pull back to scold you for going out in the storm, and I realize how beautiful you look. You've got raindrops in the tiny curls framing your face. Raindrops on your eyebrows and eyelashes. Your lips are all shiny with water and when we kiss, they're cold against my warm mouth, which makes our tongues touching even hotter." _

Brennan reached up and dragged his mouth around to hers, replicating at least part of his fantasy until Booth pulled away to finish before he lost his nerve.

"_Your clothes are almost transparent, they're so drenched. I'm not going to go into detail here, because we're still waiting for Week 6, but I take them off you very slowly, Bones. I peel the fabric away from your cold, wet skin and kiss you warm again, from head to toe and in between. Then you do the same for me and when we're both naked, we just hold each other, naked skin to naked skin. That's the part that gets me the hottest," he confessed. "Imagining your bare skin pressed tightly against mine for a long minute before we even do anything about it. I can't wait to know what that feels like, Bones. Holding you, without clothes in between us. It's still raining and as we make love it's hard to know if the storm is louder, or we are."_

"Are you really loud?" She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"_I'll leave that to your fantasies," he retorted, grateful she was no longer crying, but also uncomfortably aroused without any kind of foreseeable relief._

"I'm loud, Booth. Far out in the woods, where nobody can hear … that sounds … pleasant. Not that I'm shy about expressing myself with people next door."

"_You're the person who keeps everybody else in the hotel awake!" Booth said in sudden realization. "The other half of the couple who makes me thump on the ceiling with a broom in order to try and get some sleep! That's you!"_

Brennan laughed and pulled his arms around her more tightly. "I'll make sure the people underneath our hotel room are well equipped with brooms or mops when we check in."

Before he could process the implications of her statement, she continued, "My turn. Something I've never told you about is one of _my _sexual fantasies."

"_Oh, shit. You're evil, Temperance Brennan. You know that?"_

"So you keep telling me." She wriggled against him deliberately, causing him extreme discomfort. "I won't be any more explicit than you were, I promise."

"_Some relief," he muttered._

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan rested her head against his broad chest and placed her hands on his muscled forearms. His fantasy had held certain surprising elements. She would have expected something more traditional, indoors, for certain, from her restrained partner. His comments about volume were intriguing. But, at its core, the fantasy had been all Booth—slow and tender, with an eye toward rescuing a damsel who he mistakenly thought was in distress.

She now knew for certain that he had a rougher, less careful side, given their recent make out sessions, but was glad not to be completely misguided in her overall impressions. Tender Booth suited her fine, and she was good at riling him up to the point where he turned the corner into aggressive FBI guy if she needed such release.

"In my fantasy," she began, "We've been arguing for several weeks."

"_Oh, one of __**those**__ fantasies. Shoulda guessed."_

"No interrupting. We're both angry at each other and are no closer to finding a resolution to whatever it is we're disagreeing about. After a particularly tense stakeout, I go home and am venting my frustrations into the next chapter of my novel, when you spin my chair around. I didn't even know you were standing behind me."

"_Ha!" Booth snorted. "You'd K-O me into the next galaxy if I ever tried that."_

"Probably. That's why this is a fantasy. So you spin me around and pull me out of the chair. I'm angry—you're in my apartment without permission, you're manhandling me, and I'm still not giving in on whatever point we've been arguing. I start to reach out to punch you, when you catch my fist. I could easily follow up with a knee to the groin, of course, or—"

"_Can we keep the violence out of our sex life when it finally happens? My groin doesn't do well with knees or flying fists."_

"You catch my fist and glare at me. You become aroused imagining us skin to skin. I get aroused when I think of the look in your eyes when you realize we're about to have intercourse. I've seen the look a lot recently."

"_No kidding. Try calling it something besides 'intercourse,' Bones. If you can't handle making love, at least go for sex. I feel like I'm back in sex ed."_

"The look in your eyes tells me we're about to have sex. You let go of my fist and I go for your shirt."

"_Let me guess. Buttons flying?"_

"It's a T-shirt," she retorted. "I help pull it over your head, and your hair gets all disheveled. I enjoy that look and I thread one of my hands into your hair, while with the other I unbutton your jeans. Your hands are on my breasts—"

"_How is this not explicit? Unbuttoning jeans? Breasts?"_

She sighed. "You're fondling me, Booth. Significantly, through my bra. I get impatient and help you pull my own shirt over my head. My bra is a front clasp and you struggle getting it open, so I help you with one hand, while removing my skirt with the other. Again, there's that look in your eyes when there are suddenly no clothes left between us and you look me up and down, without missing an inch of skin. But we're still angry. Our movements are rough, abrasive. My skin is marked where you've pushed and pulled fabric aside, and you add to the marks with your mouth, holding me still as you rake your teeth across my skin."

"_Stop! Bones, you gotta stop. You're killing me. I get it. We have rough, wild, crazy makeup sex and when we wake up you're probably still mad at me and we go at it again. I can't hear anymore. Bad things will happen."_

"Good things, I'd say," Brennan commented, reaching back into his lap with an indelicate hand. He slapped her away with a hiss of alarm.

"_Bad Bones! What's the next statement? I'm done with this line of questioning."_

Brennan chuckled and patted his thigh. **"My fantasy."**

"_What?" Booth yanked the paper from her hands and stared at the words. "No way. We're skipping that, Bones, sorry. Whatever the hell Gordon Gordon thinks he's prescribing to cure your nightmares, it's going to wind up being sex unless we switch gears here immediately. Next statement looks safe. __**I promise. **__I promise I'll be a better man if I can just get through the next week without caving in! Your turn, Dr. Evil."_

"'My fantasy' doesn't _have _to have sexual connotations, Booth."

"_**I promise**__," he insisted. "C'mon, Bones. I'd like to get to bed before the sun rises. Again."_

"This is a reiteration of our earlier conversation. I promise I'll keep an open mind toward a possibility of changing my views on marriage, whether or not I believe that will actually happen. **I promise.**"

"_I promise I'll spend the next year, or longer, proving to you that a lifetime with me, whether or not it's legally sanctioned, is worthwhile. I'll be a good partner, Bones. A good boyfriend or husband. I promise."_

"You already are," she said. "I promise to try and stabilize my emotions sometime in the near future so we don't require similar rounds of therapy any longer. **I promise."**

"_I promise I'll never break your heart again, Bones. More than promise. I swear it."_

"I promise to do my best never to hurt you again, so you drive all the way to Pittsburgh in pain."

"_That's the end of Round 3," he noted. "Will you also promise, again, to call me if you have a nightmare?"_

"No need," she informed him. "Your presence is requested in my bed as soon as Round 4 is complete. It would be good if you left a few changes of clothes at my place, Booth, and I could do the same. That way neither of us has to race across town in the morning before work to change."

"_Wow. Sure, Bones. I like that idea a whole lot, yeah. You wanna take our five minute break or just wrap this thing up now?"_

"Our last break counted for four or five. I'm tired. It's your turn to start, so go ahead."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_**I am**__," Booth read._

Brennan pondered for a while. They'd already broken all the rules anyway. "I am relieved. I dislike crying, but you're correct in that I'd avoided those emotions for far too long."

"_I am blessed, Bones. People search all their lives for someone who makes me feel the way you do. With you and Parker in my life, it's worth putting up with all the crap the world dishes out on a regular basis. _**I am."**

"I am looking forward to our next date. I think it's something you'll enjoy. Are you free tomorrow evening?"

"_You bet. I am so glad you decided to take the chance on this experiment with me. I have a hard time believing there was a time I wasn't allowed to hold you like this. __**I am.**__"_

"This isn't my statement. I'm sorry I kept us both waiting for so long. I'm a genius, but occasionally I don't act that way. I am growing less uncomfortable with the realization that I really do depend on you and that doesn't make me weak."

"_I am kind of glad I shot that clown head. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have met Gordon Gordon and we wouldn't have had anybody to help Sweets fix us. __**Thank you."**_

"Thank you for insisting on being a hero. Even when I'd rather you weren't."

"_Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your past, Bones. It means a lot to me. __**Thank you.**__"_

"Thank you for listening. And thank you for accepting me in spite of my insecurities and occasional egotism."

"_Thank you for loving me. For trusting me. __**Thank you."**_

"Thank you for my heart." She lifted her hand from her waist and placed it on his necklace. "This one." She moved his hand to her ribcage. "And this one."

"_Thank you. Just … thank you, Bones. For everything. __**You."**_

"You?"

"_That's all it says," he confirmed. "You."_

"You make me smile."

"_You drive me crazy. __**You."**_

"You've helped make me a better person."

"_You have no idea how much I want you every minute, every second, every day. __**You."**_

"I think I might. You … you somehow help me give myself permission to be silly and tell jokes and play games. I find I like rediscovering that side of myself with your assistance."

They sat quietly together for a long while, recovering from the intensity of the evening.

"I feel metaphorically naked," Brennan admitted. "Not necessarily in a pleasant way, although the exercise did prove cathartic."

"Yeah, well, you know shrinks. They're all about people getting naked," Booth replied. "Wanna go home?"

"Your place or mine?"

"Yours is closer. Can we stop for pie first? And maybe another cup of coffee that I actually get to drink instead of wear?"

Brennan grinned. "The pie can be arranged. Whether or not you wind up wearing the coffee depends on if you find my next joke funny."

"Meaning you're going to try to make me laugh just as I take that first sip." Booth pulled a comically frustrated face and dipped down for a kiss that kept them in Angela's office much longer than either anticipated.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N:**

1. **Next update will not be until next Thursday. Sorry for the delay, folks—school starts back for me on Monday. You have my word the update will arrive no later than Thursday evening and, from here on out, once a week—always on Thursday—is the name of the game, at least until Labor Day, when I might (emphasis on **_**might**_**—not promising anything) have a chance to update twice in one weekend. It'll be worth the wait, I promise. The chapters to come are all in the 7000-10000 word range. All of them. So you get an extra dose of reading to tide you through the long weeks. =)**

**2. Chapter 56 is Brennan's 2****nd**** date and weighs in at 8000+ words. Among other things, the chapter involves a heated physical competition between Booth and Brennan—yes, he gets hot and sweaty-a musical valentine, a present and baseball—metaphorically speaking, if you get my drift … hint, hint, wink. =) In short, 56 is a much-needed dose of fluff. **

**3. As the story progresses, I promise to honor requests I've received both for more doses of dark Booth and temptress Brennan, along with another few dates in the lead up to Week 6 (somewhere b/w Ch. 63 and 65, as I said before.)**

**4. I have a request to make. You all responded so wonderfully to my query about Option 1 and Option 2—which allowed me to make space for all the above developments, as 98% of you agreed to patiently wait a little long for Week 6, so I could develop the story at a pace I feel is realistic. As such, perhaps you would indulge me again, while you wait for Chapter 56? I find it fascinating looking at the number of reviews and hits for specific chapters. Some chapters I thought would go over great only got 1 or 2 reviews. Others that I thought might flop hit the 75 (an all time high for me) mark. **

**My question: If you could pick any chapter so far as a favorite, which would it be, and why? The question has a purpose more than just indulging in self-flattery. If I know what readers like, it clues me in on what future chapters (or stories) should contain some of. I'd love if it you would PM me with your answers.**

**5. Finally, I extend my heartfelt thanks once more to Eternal Destiny for keeping me company via email during more than one all-night writing session. It was so much fun editing each other's stories, splitting timed hours, trading prompts, discussing all manner of randomness and dissecting the universe at large through the lens of Bones—you really helped make the summer for me, and improved my writing while you were at it. =) I wish we had a few more weeks left of the same. :( THANK YOU. (((((HUG)))))**


	56. Green Team

**A/N: The promised nice long Thursday update has arrived and it's steamy and *fluffy* and Brennan's second date! =) The drama has been curtailed for a couple of chapters (56 – 58), to allow readers to relax before that last bit of angst hits (I'll warn you before it does.) Then it's Week 6 all the way, baby, in either Chapter 62 or 63. That's a guarantee. Watch for it! =) **

**Many thanks to brilliant beta Eternal Destiny. I've had multiple PMs from readers who ventured over to her recent one shot on my recommendation, and wholeheartedly agreed that it is all kinds of awesome. If you haven't read **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**, I highly, highly recommend that you do. The chair scene is absolutely CLASSIC.**

**Amilyn—this chapter's for you, since you liked it so much. =)**

**Also, HUGE thanks to all those of you who so very kindly responded to my request about what your favorite chapters are (the question remains open to anybody else who wants to PM me), and who wished me well in this first week back at school. I have yet to answer all your emails and PMs, but I will. The detailed descriptions of what you liked, including the lines you found funny, the bits that made you tear up, places you thought were particularly IC, etc., made me REALLY REALLY happy. I just love hearing what parts of the story were special to each reader. So thanks again for that feedback. Coming home to it every evening this week has been really wonderful, when I'm exhausted from all the setting-up-class routine, teacher in-services, etc.**

**So far, Chapter 7 is the leader in terms of favorite chapters, which really surprised me. Many readers have also voted for 54 as being very popular. Oh—and to answer people's questions—my favorite chapter (I think) was Fires of the Inner Squint. I like that Brennan finally opens up and does something for Booth, and I'd really like to see something like that on the show. (I'd also like to see the Poison Ivy and the geese. =)**

**Thanks also to tashayar333, for providing the musical valentine at this date's end. Sorry it took so long to get to, Marissa, but hopefully it was worth the wait. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

She woke up in the middle of the night for no reason and reached automatically for the reassuring bulk of her partner. When he wasn't there, she sat up in confusion and glared around the room, as though he might be lurking in the shadows.

"Booth?"

He appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of something or other, and Brennan felt herself relax immediately at the sight of his familiar, large frame.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"No. What are you doing up?"

He came over to the bed and sat down beside her. "I seem to have gotten used to getting up at 3:00 AM lately," he admitted. "I woke up when a car alarm went off and couldn't go back to sleep."

She really did sleep better with him nearby, even if she wasn't about to admit it yet. "Come back to bed."

Setting the glass on the nightstand, he did as she asked, crawling back in beside her and pulling her close. She rested her head on his chest and counted the steady beats of his heart until she drifted back to sleep.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth felt the moment when she fell asleep. Her head rolled slightly into his shoulder, her fingers stopped absently caressing his ribcage, and her breathing grew shallow and even. A startling loud snore rattled from her throat and he stifled a laugh. It never failed to surprise him how somebody so delicate looking could snore so loudly. Of course, there was nothing remotely delicate about his partner, regardless of appearance.

He held her closely until he was sure she was deep enough asleep that she wouldn't wake up when he slipped out of bed again. Easing himself away from her reluctantly, he climbed out of bed and pulled the covers around her closely.

He headed back into the dining room, where the draft of his letter lay on the table. Picking up a pen, he continued where he'd left off when she'd called his name.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She found the letter waiting on her desk at noon, along with a diner takeout box and a short note.

**Bones, **

**As promised—one love letter. See you at 4:00. Still wondering why I have to wear clothes that 'I don't mind discarding.' **

**Love, Booth**

Sitting down with the mug of green tea she'd just made herself, Brennan opened the letter and smiled when a pressed daisy was the first thing she saw. She extracted it carefully and placed it between the pages of a novel she was planning on taking home that evening.

_Dear Temperance,_

_I can't decide whether I should use your real name or your nickname for this love letter. I guess Temperance might sound a little more romantic?_

_Okay, Bones. I have to call you Bones now, or this won't work for me. I'm laying it all out here. _

_You asked me tonight why I chose you in spite of everything. I think I actually chose you __**because**__ of everything, Bones. From day one, you've been just that different from any other woman I've ever met._

_Go back with me to the beginning. I walk into the university, and there's this crazy sexy lady speaking in a foreign language up on stage. Sorry to be typically alpha male here, Bones, but you looked like you belonged on the cover of some magazine, not in an academic setting. You've probably never seen those cartoons where Cupid is this chubby little baby wearing diapers. Remind me to show you one day. He flies around with arrows and shoots other characters and they fall madly in love with each other. I felt like one of his arrows went right through my chest the moment I saw you. I've never managed to pull the arrow out since, although I tried more than a few times between now and then._

_It was so much more than how you looked—it was your complete confidence and lack of bullshit. (Sorry, maybe not the best language for a love letter, but I'm being honest here.) You told me you were the best in the world. And you are the best, but who says that, Bones? Nobody except you. So you hit me with a one-two jab: first, your looks, then, your confidence. And shortly after that, you nailed me with your brain, when you told me half of Gemma Arrington's life story about 2 minutes after seeing her remains. _

_I was already reeling by that point, but it was all the other little things that wound up laying me out flat. Your really bad idioms. 'Let me watch you broil a suspect, Booth.' I'm laughing just thinking about that. Deciding you should call me "shoes" because I insisted on calling you Bones. Punching that judge. Jesus, Bones. I was so far gone, there was no rescuing me. Then we kissed and you drove away … I'll never forget that either. I stopped the cab and asked if you thought I'd have regrets when I looked at you in the morning. And you said that would never happen. __**So **__confident. Do you have any idea how hot that was to hear, and how crazy it made me? Bam. Gone, baby, I was gone._

_We had that fight and even after you said all those things about me, I couldn't stop thinking about you that whole year we were apart. I'd be working a case on my own and you'd pop into my brain without any warning. I missed you after knowing you for five minutes. It took me a year to figure out what an idiot I was, and then you decked the guy who I sent to detain you at the airport. God, Bones. There just isn't anybody else out there like you._

_You're the most independent person I've ever met, I think, including me. And I tend to do things my own way, if you haven't noticed. But you—it's not marching to the sound of a different drummer. You've got an entire weird world music orchestra playing for background music, which nobody else hears, and you just do your thing, Bones, no matter what anybody says. You charge ahead and it doesn't matter if there are bullets or scalpels flying your way. It has its drawbacks, sure. It scares the crap out of me most days. But it's red hot anyway._

_From the beginning, I could never impress you, no matter how hard I tried, and you never tried to fake me out. Not intentionally. You were always honest to a fault. You still are. I discovered I could trust you with anything. That's a rare quality. I can count the number of people in my life I trust like that on one hand. _

_Do you see, Bones, why I chose you? How could I not? I love __**you. **__Not some creature I've created in my mind, like people do when they're dating and trying to impress each other. We kind of skipped all that, for better or worse. I love you. The rational, irrational, independent, needy, secure, insecure, spontaneous, rule-bound, damn-the torpedoes-I'm-gonna-do-it-my-way genius scientist who can't tell the difference between hockey and football. (Kidding, Bones. Kidding.) I love the contradictions, even if they also drive me crazy. _

_I love your lame jokes, messed up idioms, terrible taste in beer and literal brain. I love how passionate you are about everything, especially giving the forgotten back their faces. I love your absolute loyalty to the squints and the few other people privileged enough to be in your inner circle. I love how kind you are and how carefully you avoid letting anybody know about that big heart. (Yes, I know, heart size has nothing to do with compassion.) I love your books. I love how completely real you are with everybody, including my own kid. No bullshit, ever. Did I say that already? I love your flying karate- jujitsu-kung fu moves. I love that you don't quit, no matter what comes down the pipe. I love that you believe what you believe and it doesn't much matter what society has to say._

_Can I get a little Alpha Male now and talk about your body?_

_I love your hair. The color, the softness … when we finally get to Week 6, I'm going to spend a lot of time just rubbing it against my skin._

_I love your eyes, especially when they squint, or get that mischievous little glint that only I get to see. _

_I love your lips. The way they're shaped. The way they taste. The way they feel against mine._

_I love your neck. You know that already. I could spend about ten years just kissing your shoulders and throat. You're so damn sexy, Bones, it's not right._

_I love your shoulders and your arms. The way you swing them so purposefully when you walk. When you get mad and start striding away, it looks like you're fixing to start the Boston Marathon or something._

_I love your hands. God, I love your hands. They're the only part of you that actually __**are **__delicate. Those long fingers—the way they're so tender with bone fragments and so crazy with me … your nails are going to draw blood one of these days, Bones, and I have to say I'm not sure I'll mind._

_I love your breasts. Yeah, let's go there, why not, okay? The way they rise against the fabric of your blouses, or tease me just a little if you bend over—my mouth goes dry just thinking about seeing them without anything else blocking my view._

_I love your waist. Your hips. Your legs. Your feet. I haven't seen nearly enough of your feet, I just realized._

_I don't know if this letter explained anything. My world is better with you in it. We can live without each other. We did for a long time. But why would we, now that we've figured out that you're the salt to my popcorn and I'm the butter on yours?_

_I love where we are now. I love where we've been, because it led us here, however long the drive. I love where I know we'll one day be. I just love you, Bones. _

_Te iubesc. Te amo. Je t'aime. Wo ai ni. Aishteru. Te dua._

_Always._

_Booth._

_PS: I figured I'd put that English degree to use for a minute. This was a poem I liked in college. It's a little over the top, but it has a lot to say. I'd like to change the title to Temperance._

She Walks in Beauty

_**She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
Thus mellow'd to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.**_

_**One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impair'd the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er her face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.**_

_**And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,  
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,  
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,  
But tell of days in goodness spent,  
A mind at peace with all below,  
A heart whose love is innocent!**_

_~Lord Byron_

_**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**_

"Sweetie?"

Angela's voice interrupted Brennan's reading and re-reading of her letter and poem.

"Are you okay?" Angela stepped into her office. "You have a really weird look on your face."

Brennan looked down at the letter held in her hand and wondered if it was something to be shared. Her best friend had waited as many years as she had to find happiness and it was hard to argue that Angela's meddlesome efforts hadn't ultimately helped Brennan and Booth end up together. She held the letter out, completely unaware of the small, amazed smile on her face. "I'm fine, Ange. It's just … he loves **me**."

_**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**_

He showed up a few minutes before 4:00 and just stood in Brennan's doorway, watching her as she typed. She was laser-focused on whatever document was in front of her, so much so that she didn't hear him approach until he said her name softly.

"Bones."

She looked around and gave him a soft, wide smile that made his heart skip a beat. "I read your letter."

"I figured." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Was it … okay? I don't have much practice at that kind of thing."

She rolled her chair forward a foot, closing the gap between them and reached up to tug him down to her level. Her kiss was feather-light and tender, slowly asking permission to deepen the kiss with tiny flicks of her tongue, rather than demanding immediate entry by tugging on his lower lip with her teeth. It was very unlike her usual aggressive self, and still all kinds of hot.

Booth found that, ironically, when she wanted to go slow and sweet, his body temperature rose to the point where he desperately wanted hard and fast. Love making was going to be a typically wonderful, contradictory experience with Temperance Brennan … he used every ounce of self-restraint he possessed to let her lead with those soft, wet presses of her lips, sucking on his, the slow swipes of her tongue around his mouth, drawing back and then sliding forward smoothly again to trail across his teeth and the roof of his mouth until Booth was sure the back of his head was about to burst into flames.

"I liked it," she finally whispered, drawing back and looking at him with shining eyes. "A lot."

Booth struggled not to stammer. "I might have to write you letters more frequently if that's the kind of thank you I can expect."

She smiled and stood up. "Ready for our date?"

"I've been wondering all day what my clothes have to do with anything." He gestured at the old orange hockey sweatshirt he was wearing and the frayed, ancient jeans he'd dragged out of the back of his closet on a mad dash home at lunch. "Is this okay?"

The way she raked her eyes across him made him feel like he was naked, rather than wearing several layers, per her orders.

"I think they'll be sufficient protection, though your thighs might sustain some bruising."

"_Thighs?"_ Booth trailed her out the door and across the platform. "Why are my thighs going to be bruised after our date, Bones?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Oh, baby." Booth's eyes widened as Brennan drove up to the large field on the outskirts of the city. He turned to her. "If I didn't love you before, I definitely do now. Paintball?"

Unbuckling her seat belt, he dragged her out of the driver's seat and halfway across the center console to him. It was an awkward position and neither could sustain it very long, but he made the most of those few moments. When he pulled back, Brennan's breathing was definitely accelerated.

"I've never played before. Have you?" she asked, getting out of the car.

"No." He met her on the other side and pinned her up against the door with his, as yet, unbruised thighs. Then his mouth was on hers again, kissing her like he'd wanted to back at the Jeffersonian. It seemed their roles had been reversed completely. She'd been tender. Now he was the aggressive party, thrusting his tongue between her lips without preliminaries, sliding one hand down to encompass what he could of her toned backside and pulling her closer into the cradle of his hips. He ground against her, clearly showing her the evidence of his barely-held-in-check arousal. Her startled intake of breath and reciprocal grinding only fueled his desire to continue much, much farther.

His free hand glided underneath the front of her shirt and nudged the thin fabric of her left bra cup aside. _No padding_, he noticed with dark satisfaction. She didn't need any. Still kissing her like tomorrow would bring the Apocalypse and he'd never be able to kiss her again, he slid his hand into the bra and lifted her soft, warm flesh into his calloused hand. Brennan let out something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. And Booth knew his partner _never _whimpered.

"You like that, Bones?"

She arched forward in a bid to encourage him. "What about Week 6?"

"We're still waiting, babe. But six years is a long time of fantasizing, and my self-restraint is starting to fray at the edges." He traced his thumb in a slow circle around the sides of her breast, everywhere except where he she knew he wanted it. "You have to admit, I've been almost saintly with all this waiting, Bones, even if some of it was my idea."

Her breath huffed out sharply as his touch grew more possessive yet. He could see very little of her under all the layers she was wearing, which made his out of sight activities all that more erotic.

Brennan grabbed the hand that was, as yet, not under her shirt, and dragged it up to her neglected breast. Her actions directly contradicted her next words, as she squirmed and moaned when he finally gave her what she wanted. "Ah. _Oh. God. Harder, Booth. _We're in public …"

He pulled his lips from her kiss-swollen mouth. "Believe it or not, I'm no saint, Dr. Brennan." Through the heavy fabric of her sweatshirt, he squeezed her right breast to emphasize his point and enjoyed the immediate haze of desire that clouded her eyes. "I'm tired of you thinking of me that way, and I'm fixing on proving the contrary very, very shortly. However, the sign says the course closes at 5:30 and its 4:30 now."

Booth regretfully withdrew his hand from under her shirt and stepped away, dodging her hands as they reached out to drag him back him.

"Now who's a tease?" he chuckled at the obvious frustration all over her face. "Just know this, Bones. You think I'm a prude. I get it. The thing is, I'm all about a challenge if you haven't noticed, and I'm out to prove you're way wrong about that." He placed his mouth next to her ear and lowered his voice deliberately so it vibrated in the sensitive shell of her ear. "We better be far out in the country somewhere when Week 6 hits, somewhere nobody's listening. Because once I start making love to you, Temperance Brennan, I am _not_ stopping. You say you're loud, but you're going to be a lot louder with me, and there _will _be screaming. It might cause a few people in a hotel to lose some quality sleep. I'm a polite guy, you know. Remember that."

Satisfied at the astonished look on her face, he placed a hand on the small of her back like the gentleman that he was and ushered her forward.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's unusually forward actions had left Brennan breathless and frantic with desire. She listened in a fog as the course manager brusquely explained the rules of the game.

"Keep your masks on at all times, as well as your green tags. They'll identify you as members of one team, so you don't get shot by other people playing although that could still happen by accident. There's no overshooting on this course. If a person is down, allow them to surrender or you will be evicted from the field. No wiping marks off. We have cameras watching for cheats. If you're spending time and money here, do it honestly. The goal of the game is to get from one end of the field to the other with the fewest amount of hits, while capturing as many green flags as possible. Fewer hits still win, regardless of the flags. There are 25 flags in total. This—" he hefted a large gun in his hand, "Is what you use to hit, or fire, with. It's your marker. Attached to it is the hopper." He pointed. "That's where you feed paint into your gun. You should have plenty of rounds pre-loaded but, in case you run out, we're giving you a belt with a few extra pellets. Any questions?"

Brennan glanced over at Booth, who looked extremely, endearingly excited. This was his area of expertise. She'd deliberately planned this date, in consultation with Angela, in order to allow him to show off his marksmanship. Not that she intended to let him win easily, of course, if at all.

They tugged the masks over their faces and slung the belt with extra rounds around their shoulders. She watched as, through the narrow slits, Booth's face became a mask of concentration and ferocity. It sent her desire up another notch to see him so aggressive.

"Ready, Bones? I'm gonna beat the pants off you."

"I think it's more appropriate to say you will be the one losing your pants by the end of our sporting event."

"That's not what I meant, Bones, and you know it!"

So her restrained Booth was still in there somewhere, amidst all the roiling testosterone. She smiled behind her own mask.

They were led to the edge of the course and given a brief overview of the field. The beginning and end were clearly delineated by signs, but there was a huge stretch of field in between where about a dozen or so people were clambering over obstacles and avoiding rapid rounds of colorful fire. Brennan's observant eyes scanned the course, seeking some hint of green that would indicate the first flag.

"Go!" The no-nonsense course manager fired a blank into the air and walked away as Booth and Brennan raced forward.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Strategy. The game was all about strategy. Booth could tell right off the bat that simply running into the open and diving wildly for a flag would result in a face full of paint. It would be like crossing an Afghani mountain range without stopping to first consider the safest route. Where were potential IEDs hidden? Where were possible insurgents? What other kind of booby traps were lying in wait and what was the best way around them, to get from Point A to Point B?

In this case, his enemy was his notoriously methodical partner, who had disappeared from his field of view within seconds of the game's start. He had the advantage, for sure. He knew Brennan better than she knew him. She had very little awareness of his exact set of military skills, other than that he could fire a gun with deadly accuracy. But he knew her. He knew what her first move would be.

Keeping that in mind, he hunched behind several stacked bales of hay and exchanged brief conversation with another player, while he kept an eye on the field before him. A green flag fluttered lazily in the wind several yards away, completely exposed. Not a target that any practiced military man would take. But definitely one that a competitive forensic anthropologist would have spotted immediately and would probably be gunning for.

While he waited for her to emerge, he scanned the playing area. There were hay bales, long stretches of concrete piping large enough to hide several men in, rope ladders, heavy brush, copses of trees, small buildings that could serve as temporary fortresses, even several small manmade pools that looked deep enough to submerge in fully, if need be.

"Is that your girlfriend?" The guy next to him inquired, pointing.

Booth spotted Brennan creeping forward from behind her own hay bale. Sure enough, she was aiming for that unprotected flag. Her shoulders were hunched comically and, rather than being focused on what was around her, she was looking only at the flag. Classic rookie mistake.

"Yep. That's my girlfriend." He sighted carefully on her lower back. _Sorry, baby …_

The pellet blasted from Booth's marker, heading straight for Brennan. He didn't wait to see it hit its mark. He knew it would. By the time Brennan had dropped flat on her face defensively, reaching back in disbelief to touch the splat of paint decorating her backside, Booth was already halfway to a rope ladder, snagging a flag on the way. He skimmed up and over the obstacle, easily dodging Brennan's return fire with a laugh as he dropped from the ropes and rolled lightly into a nice swathe of tall grass.

"Eat my dust, Bones!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

The impact of his shot was strong enough to sting, but not nearly enough to keep Brennan down for more than a few seconds. She snagged the flag that had cost her a hit and scrambled for another place to hide. Ahead of her, she could see Booth moving easily across an obstacle, scooping up a flag of his own on the way to a natural hiding place. His lithe, graceful display of athleticism was completely, unfairly distracting.

_Compartmentalize._

She slipped behind a length of rubber tubing and settled on her stomach, keeping her eyes on where she'd seen Booth vanish. So, she'd made a stupid mistake, stepping into the sights of a trained sniper. She learned fast and didn't frequently repeat an error. His taunt from across the field only served to make her more determined to win

"Lose the sweatshirt."

Brennan glanced over at the woman crouching a few feet away.

"You're wearing red. Anybody can see it. Plus, whoever you're playing with is looking for a red target now." The blonde woman gestured at her own dark clothing. "Sure, you might get a little bruised, but it's all about winning, right?"

Brennan smiled and pulled the sweatshirt over her head, shoving it neatly behind the tubing. "Yes. It's all about winning."

Booth emerged from his hiding place and looped back in her direction, apparently aiming for a flag Brennan had yet to see.

Her female counterpart waved. "Is that your man?"

"That's … my boyfriend," Brennan acknowledged, feeling the words out for the first time and finding that she liked them.

"He's hot," the blonde said admiringly. "Charge him."

"What?"

"He's expecting you to be cowering after that hit you just took. As soon as he gets within spitting distance, charge him. It's a onetime only strategy, but it might score you a hit. " Without another word, the blonde followed her own advice and catapulted from behind the tube screaming like a banshee.

She didn't even bother to duck, running full tilt toward a guy with a purple flag pinned to his back who was just leaning over to snag a flag.

Brennan didn't watch to see what happened. Booth was just about in range, moving slowly and cautiously, but with purpose. She spotted the flag he was after, hidden in a clump of horse nettle. Brennan launched her own attack, exploding out and racing toward her partner shrieking. Booth dropped to a knee to fire off a shot—_damn, she found that arousing—_but Brennan had already fired her owFn volley, hitting him squarely in the chest. She took a second hit. He took two.

Brennan swooped in as he dropped, stealing the unclaimed flag, as well as the one her stunned partner had tucked into his belt.

"Eat my dust!" she hollered, racing away before he could recover from the two vivid marks on his orange sweatshirt.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The sight of Brennan erupting from nowhere stopped Booth in his tracks. She had an advantage no Taliban insurgent did—red hair flying and a huge grin on her face that dropped his heart all the way to his knees. He almost didn't mind as she nailed him twice, then gracefully stole his tags and loped away laughing. Almost.

Recovering, Booth shook his head and laughed to himself as she splashed through a mud puddle in her quest for a flag several yards away. She was too far out of range for a shot and it was fun to watch her trying to be sneaky, darting glances over her shoulder while almost crawling toward her prize.

"That was a freebie, Bones! C'mon and try that again!"

Strategy was all well and good. But sometimes a no-holds-bar approach was equally effective. When her back was turned and she stooped to claim the third flag, Booth got to his feet and moved silently toward her. Screaming was for the movies, not real combat, unless you were some Scottish warrior charging naked into battle across a plain. Who would give their momentary advantage away in a one-on-one showdown? Not him.

Easily, he skirted small boggy areas that would have splashed and alerted her to his presence. He used other contestants' noise to his advantage, treading through the worst terrain only when the screaming and shooting were at a fever pitch.

Brennan made another classic mistake after claiming her flag. Feeling cocky, she paused and looked around to gloat at her opponent, rather than taking cover immediately. As she looked around, her eyes caught up with Booth, but he was almost on her by that point anyway. She was barely raising the marker to aim for him when he got her low across the stomach. Still, she was in good firing position, so he didn't attempt to take her flags before moving away in a zigzag pattern. As he continued to work his way forward toward the end of the field, he mentally reviewed the score with satisfaction.

_Three hits, three flags, to my two hits. I'm still winning._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The employees of Paintball World rarely had much to amuse them. Usually, they processed payments, handed out gear, kept an eye on cameras for cheating or injured parties and dealt with complaints from people who didn't know that a game was just a game and that it occasionally involved not winning. The two maniacs on the course at present were providing a whole new kind of entertainment.

All kinds of people came to the course, which touted itself as a combination of capture the flag and paintball, with the benefit of obstacles thrown in. People could make the game their own, deciding whether to avoid the flags entirely and just sprint from one end of the field to the other while avoiding hits, or collecting flags and navigating obstacles simultaneously, with the ultimate goal to reach that last stand of trees with fewer hits than their opponent.

From the beginning, the green team was different. They clearly weren't treating this as a game. Initially, both had made beginner mistakes, but it became immediately apparent that a) green guy was one hell of a marksman and b) green girl, while less experienced, learned very, very quickly. Both parties were bound and determined to hunt down every single flag, which, really, nobody ever did. Manager Mark Cifuentes wondered if there were even actually 25 flags out on the course. He hadn't counted for a long time, but suspected these two customers would complain if they were denied total victory.

Invariably, green girl spotted the flags first. Green guy used that to his advantage, lurking behind natural barriers and waiting until she'd pointed out exactly where the prize was, before emerging and firing his rounds with deadly accuracy, then moving in to relieve green girl of her treasure. Except—it stopped going down that way after the first few times. Green girl started holding onto her flags and refusing to let go, and, damn, the woman had some martial arts moves on her. Forget the marker. She kicked green guy's ass six ways from Sunday multiple times when he tried too hard to deprive her of what she believed she had rightfully earned.

Green guy, on the other hand, exacted revenge by sighting on her from every possible angle, until she looked more like a walking rainbow than a human being. At one point, he did something no contestant had ever done—it was enough to make Cifuentes vow to revamp the course, in deadly fear of a drowning lawsuit. The man immersed himself completely in a stinking, muddy water hole that had been solely designed as an obstacle to skirt. Nobody ever swam in the thing! He could hold his breath for a long time and, when green girl scooted over to claim the flag at the water's edge, he burst from the pool with a roar and scored yet another hit. But she held onto the flag anyway, plunging into the water to retaliate in kind.

They chased each other up and down the field, way past closing time, and no employee had the heart—or the courage—to tell them time was up. By the time green girl staggered across the finish line, Paintball World employees offered her a standing ovation, which she seemed confused by, more than anything. Green guy was only minutes behind and received a round of applause of his own. He paid no attention to it, intent as he was on counting the number of paint splats on his opponent.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I won," Brennan insisted as they walked toward the elevator at Booth's place, causing several members of the nightstaff to do doubletakes at the partners' newly colorful, muddy, grass-stained, dripping outfits. "I have 19 flags and you only have 6."

"The point was not to get hit, Bones, and you look like somebody dropped you in a vat of melted crayons. I won." He gestured her into the elevator ahead of him.

"It's impossible to count how many hits each of us sustained. The game is inherently flawed in that the shots are not clearly defined, so getting an accurate tally is impossible. Therefore, by default, I win."

"Default?" Booth pushed the button for his floor and laughed. "No way. The only reason we can't count the number of shots on your body and compare them to mine is because you took so many hits, they're all blurred into each other. If you were a training dummy, you'd be leaking straw all over the place. I blew you away, Bones, admit it."

They bickered all the way right up to his door, where he pulled them up short and put a hand over her mouth lightly. "I won, Bones—ouch!" He retracted his hand as she bit the fleshy part of his palm.

"Don't ever try and shut me up, Booth."

"I wasn't shutting you up," he sighed, rubbing his hand. "Just—shh, for a second okay? When you see what's waiting inside, you'll be sorry for biting me."

Curiosity overcame Brennan's innate competitive drive. "I have something for you too. It may, however, be illegible at this point." She reached into the pocket of her sodden jeans and sadly removed a soggy ball of paper.

"Aw. Was that a love letter for me, Bones?" Booth asked, touched.

"No. It was a musical valentine, for our date."

He touched her colorful cheek with his index finger lightly. "You look pretty even when I can't actually see much of your face. Thanks for the thought, Bones."

"I spent a great deal of time researching songs, even though the musical field is far from my expertise. I didn't ask Angela for assistance."

That was clearly a point of pride for her, in a dating "field" where she was still feeling her way.

"So what was the song?" Booth turned to unlock the door. "I'll look it up while you're playing with your surprise."

"Playing with my surprise?" She raised an eyebrow. "You bought me a toy?"

"Not exactly." The deadbolt slid back and Booth glanced down in preparation, to make sure his present didn't escape when he opened the door. "The song title, Bones?"

"The emotions are expressed somewhat overly dramatic, and you should substitute "woman" for "man" at that part of the lyrics, but I did find the sentiments expressed to be at least somewhat appropriate for—"

Booth leaned in and kissed her, paint, mud, river water and all. "Just tell me the song, Bones. I promise. I'll like it."

"Life After You, by the artist Chris Daughtry. I'm not certain that is his real name."

"I know Daughtry, Bones, even if I don't recognize the song." He kissed her again, until she stopped vibrating with nervousness. She was so unaccustomed to romantic gestures, she was obviously terrified of being shot down in flames. And she'd already been shot plenty for one evening, he thought with a grin. "Brace yourself for your own present. It's a little … wild."

"I appreciate whatever present you've purchased for me, but I want you to know I still consider myself the victor for tonight's—oh!"

Booth snagged the scruff of the hissing, spitting orange and white furball as it tried to sneak out the door when he opened it. "He's a stray who's been hanging around the parking lot for about 3 weeks. I took him to the vet, had him checked out, got his shots, flea bath, worm medicine, everything. He needs a loving home, Bones, and he's actually halfway friendly when he gets to know you."

Brennan stared at the terrified animal, who was scrabbling desperately, trying to break from Booth's careful grip.

"I can't have another cat, Booth. I killed my last one."

"Thought of that already." Booth pointed at the large book lying on the table where he kept his keys and spare change.

She lifted the book. "The ASPCA Complete Cat Care Manual." She looked from the book, to the cat. "Booth, I can't."

"Listen, Bones—" he lowered his furry burden to the floor, keeping a hand on its neck so it couldn't dart away. "I know you loved something, and it got you burned yet again. But you're a genius. You can bone up on every cat fact known to man and memorize them fast enough to spit them back at me by tomorrow evening. You can learn to take care of him."

He stroked the little animal gently, turning its endearingly bearded face up so Brennan could see it. "I hate cats, Bones, and he got to me. Look at this face. How can you say no?"

"Would you keep him until I read the book?"

"He's already shredded half my furniture. Why not?" Booth gave her a huge charm smile. "I'm proud of you for taking a chance, Bones."

"He's destroyed your furniture?" She still looked uncertain.

"You can tame him, Bones," he said encouragingly. "You tamed me." He winked.

Brennan sank to her knees in front of the cat. "What's his name?" She stroked his fur gently, careful not to get paint on him.

"He doesn't have one yet. I figured that was your decision. Why don't you two get to know each other while I go clean up? Then you can take a turn in the shower."

He left the duo in the foyer, reflecting silently that the cat was as wild as Brennan had once been. She'd have a job on her hands.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth returned 20 minutes later. Brennan looked up at him from the floor where she was 'bonding' with her unexpected new pet. Beads of water dripped from the hard, bare planes of his chest as he towel-dried his hair. Her eyes went automatically to the unbuttoned flap of his jeans.

"Like what you see, Dr. Brennan?" Booth asked roguishly, clearly aware he was being ogled.

He still thought he'd won the Paintball contest. Brennan wasn't about to let him think he'd also won what Angela would have called the "hottie of the year" award. Without a word, she directed the animal in Booth's direction and headed for the bathroom.

When she returned, the cat was hiding under the recliner in the living room with its white nose barely poking out. Booth looked up from his own chair, where he was looking at a sports magazine. Brennan noted with satisfaction that his jaw went slack at her outfit—or lack thereof.

Deliberately, she bent over to coax the cat out of hiding, aware that the towel wrapped around her snugly would ride up in the back and make him apoplectic. She'd arranged it just-so in the mirror, so that the top third of her breasts was on display, and the tight curve of her hips and backside was more than obvious. Oh, yes, she reflected with satisfaction while crooning at the cat, this was one contest where there would be no question about the winner.

"I'm going to name him Joseph," Brennan said decisively.

Booth's voice was faint. "Why Joseph?"

"After your middle name, obviously."

"Bones, you can't name a cat after me!" Booth yelled, all traces of lust vanishing in his outrage.

"Why not?" Brennan asked, teasing Joseph by making crawling motions and laughing when he took a tentative swipe at her with his paw. "Josie was female, so that was the closest I could come to your middle name. Now I have a male cat and it suits him well."

"What do you mean it suits him well?" he demanded. "It doesn't suit him at all! Cats should be called Garfield or Heathcliff or….or Bob!"

"Bob?" Brennan looked over her shoulder. "Why Bob?"

"I don't know! It sounds more … cattish. It just-it's just more of a cat name! Jesus, whatever happened to Fuzzy or Elmo, or something? You can't name him Joseph, Bones. No way."

"Would you prefer I call him Seeley?"

Unexpectedly, he caught her around the waist and hauled her upright, sending Joseph back under the chair in alarm.

"You scared him!" Brennan protested. Her next words were cut off by a hot mouth and hotter hands, settling on places that were usually off limits to Booth when she was wearing a towel or, really, anything else. He kissed her thoroughly and deeply, stopping only to skim the exposed surfaces of her breast with that same hot mouth.

"You really think you're going to win this one, Bones?" Booth asked with a gleam in his eye as he slowly tongued his way into the deep V formed by her deliberately over-emphasized cleavage.

"I already did," she retorted, dropping her hands from where they were pressing his head as close as humanly possible to her skin and moving them much, much lower. The thin fabric of his jeans hid very little …

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Booth," Brennan eventually gasped, as the pair struggled to touch everything that was touchable with her towel and his jeans still at least somewhat in place.

"What?" he growled, barely lifting his head from where he was attempting to get to know her breasts through terrycloth and getting lint in his mouth in the process.

"We have a car."

"I know that, Bones."

"We have a cat."

"He's more yours than mine."

She tangled her hands in his hair and yanked his head up roughly. "We have a car and a cat."

"That's right, Bones. We do," he agreed, stroking her shoulders soothingly and wondering what was going on in her head this time.

"You said the first thing people usually do in a committed relationship is purchase a pet. Then a car. We have both."

"What are you saying, Bones?" Booth asked cautiously.

"We're committed!" She didn't sound too upset, at least.

The last few days had been way too emotional. Booth didn't rise to the conversation, choosing instead to go for the easy way out. He needed a break from intensity, dammit.

"Baby, the way we're going right now, without getting any kind of relief, we'll both be committed by next week. You think Zack will mind company?"

He wondered immediately if the last bit was too much, but Brennan's slow smile told him it was okay.

"He's afraid of you, Booth. It's a good thing you can't have weapons on the ward."

"I'm very good at making my own weapons," he assured her, dropping his head back to her chest and showing her what he meant. Lips, teeth, tongue. Definitely as dangerous as any Glock.

"We'd be separated," she continued, stroking his bare back. "Men and women are housed in different wards."

"Not us," Booth promised, intent on derailing her powers of speech. He thumbed a sensitive peak through its thin towel covering and grinned evilly when Brennan moaned. "Nothing's splitting us up, baby. Now give me a reason I shouldn't pick you up in your towel and carry you off to bed right this minute."

"You said you had special plans for Week 6. I would like to see those come to fruition."

She wasn't near breathless enough if she could still use words with more than one syllable. Booth eased them onto a couch—he would've tumbled, but tumbling could definitely have ripped the towel from its precarious mooring on her wet skin—and pulled her on top of him. In the new position, he was in full control and could easily kiss, suckle, bite, lick, you name it, while Brennan got erotically noisy above him. The woman was loud, all right.

"Week 6 it is then," he agreed reluctantly. "I do have plans. And we want to see our experiment through to the end."

"Booth …" she breathed.

"What, baby?"

"Did you look the song up?"

"Yeah. It was a nice choice, Bones. I appreciate the, uh, sentiment." That was the best he could come to telling her how his throat had tightened when he'd read the lyrics. There was no life after Temperance Brennan. He'd known that for more than half a decade and the thought that somewhere in her mind she was beginning to come to the same conclusion about him made all the scars she'd obliviously inflicted in that timeframe worth the pain.

"Booth."

He sighed, thinking he was seriously out of practice if he couldn't drive her crazy enough to keep her from endlessly talking. He needed to hone his skills before Week 6. "Yeah, Bones?"

"I trust you."

That was random, but sweet. "I trust you too, Bones."

"I trust your self-restraint."

_Uh-oh. _His intuition fired the rocket blasters, warning him that there was white water ahead.

She smiled dangerously. "Let's wager a bet, Booth. I bet that I can make you break before Week 6."

He had to take the bet. She knew it, damn her. "I won't break, Bones." He had to say that. He couldn't let her win, no matter how pleasant it would be.

"So nothing I can do will change your mind about waiting?" She was purring. The woman had morphed from sexy squint into red hot Roxie in .02 seconds.

"Nope." _Oh, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, St. Paul, save me …_

"Well then." Brennan braced her palms on his chest. "Angela has instructed me on the finer points of baseball."

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit … _

"Since you're so trust-worthy, perhaps we could try third base?" Her smile was pure evil. "Close your eyes, Booth. Promise me you won't open them, no matter what. This exercise is all about _feeling."_

His eyes drifted shut of their own volition. "I promise."

One of her hands grasped his right wrist and brought it to rest on her chest. He felt—holy God, he _felt—_the towel slide that last fraction of an inch and then she was spilling over into his hands and the universe went nova behind his eyelids as Brennan laughed victoriously.

Seeley Joseph (the human version) found himself very occupied for the next hour or so, practicing _feeling _and, through heroic measures that he wholly attributed to the intervention of Saints, somehow, just barely, not breaking.

Seeley Joseph (the feline version) watched curiously from the safety of his chair as his new owners played a very strange game that involved a great deal of alarming noises and a whole lot of … pawing.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: The above Paintball date is based on research into certain venues that combine capture the flag with the original Paintball element. I, myself, have never played, so if I've made glaring errors in the narrative, I beg your readerly indulgences. Perhaps the multiple displays of cocky Booth will suffice as a palliative? =)**

**Teaser for the next Thursday update (Ch. 57)—Brennan's next date makes Booth very, VERY happy (hint: "The Rocker in the Rinse Cycle" holds your clue to what/where the date will be.) **

**Plus, the case of the floater in the marina is closed, and it triggers an unexpected emotion in Brennan, which, in turn, triggers turbulence in Booth's own head. (No real angst, don't worry. Like I said—57 and 58 are fluffy. Because 59 definitely won't be.)**

**For those of you who are wondering what exactly happened in the above make out scene … let's just say that people's definitions of "bases" vary extremely widely. So I'll leave it to your eminently capable imaginations, with the caveat that it was all hands. They're holding off on mouths until Week 6 …**


	57. 365 Days

**A/N: It's Thursday! Meaning … time for a story update. =)**

**There's a small section in this chapter that I cannibalized from a previous one shot—**_**Working Late—**_** that I only got 3 reviews for way back when. I still like the piece and thinks it fits in nicely with the story of **_**Problem Solving**_**, but I don't know if it's considered copacetic to pull pieces from one published story into another. Sorry if it's not usually done. I'm new to fanfic, so it's an honest mistake if that winds up being the case.**

**Per Brennan's date—there's a disclaimer at the end of the chapter that you should read. Also—please ****do not ****freak out at Booth and Brennan's Week 6 'delaying' conversation in this chapter. I promise, I will deliver the T-rated climax to the experiment on schedule in Ch. 63, ****regardless of what is discussed**** in this chapter. In other words, they come to their senses shortly. =)**

**Thanks so much to Eternal Destiny 304 for continuing to beta brilliantly, and for making me smile as I get back into the routine of teaching and am scrambling to keep my head on straight with 9 preps. I highly recommend a visit to "The Conclusion in the Psychology" for a wonderful dose of laughter and Booth-and-Brennan love. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Somehow, he managed to keep his eyes closed during the whole thing, but that didn't stop Booth from reliving his make out session with Brennan oh, about, every 3 seconds throughout the course of his regular workday. While getting coffee first thing in the morning and chatting with an unusually congenial, visible Cullen, his brain zeroed in on Brennan's lips and their softness as she 'felt' her way across his bare chest, delighting in teasing him in unexpectedly hot places when he couldn't see what she was doing. Not the kind of visual he needed while talking to the Deputy Director of the FBI!

In the middle of a meeting with a new trainee, he found his mind's eye drifting back to the way Brennan's breasts had filled his hands, overflowed them in just the right way, and how sensitive certain spots that he'd explored solely with his fingertips had been. He'd been very grateful for the cover of his desk when he recalled how her moans had sounded to his heightened hearing, and wondered how she'd react when putting his lips in the exact same places was no longer off limits. He wondered how she'd _taste_.

A reasonably good looking redheaded female Agent brushed by him accidentally on her way to lunch, and Booth was back on that couch, discovering that Brennan looked as good with his eyes closed as she did when he was staring at her eyes open. Closing his eyes had actually led to a whole new level of 'seeing' when it came to her supple, subtly perfumed skin. The female Agent gave him a curious glance when Booth stumbled over his own feet while getting out of the elevator on the next available floor, even though it wasn't where he'd been heading.

While working out at the Bureau's gym, his senses were pulled back, timewarp style, to when she'd rubbed herself all over his chest in an attempt to win their impromptu wager and how her laughter had vibrated through him as he tried to hold her still.

The whole damn day went like that, with Brennan jumping out at him in the most unexpected places—the water cooler, when he remembered her wet lips as they kissed in the hallway while still drenched from Paintball; the bathroom, as he recalled her sauntering out of his own wrapped solely in that tiny blue towel; Hacker's secretary's desk, where he'd stopped just to say hi, dammit, and noticed her perfume was similar to Brennan's. He even found himself fantasizing about her while using the damn copy machine, although there was nothing that should have remotely reminded him about Brennan when he was Xeroxing weapon permits! Maybe it was the forms themselves that reminded him of her—Brennan might not have a permit to carry a gun, but she was a lethal weapon in her own right.

When 2:00 finally rolled around and he could escape the office to meet Brennan to discuss a recent case development, Booth was very, _very _happy.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Sweetie." Angela looked concerned as she dropped onto a chair in the Jeffersonian's small lounge.

Brennan swallowed the last bite of her late lunch apple. "Yes?"

"What did you do to Booth?" The artist demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"He's on his way up the stairs, Bren, and he looks like he wants to pull out his gun and shoot somebody."

"Bones!"

Angela jumped. Brennan didn't. She turned toward her partner and raised an eyebrow calmly as he stood on the walkway, radiating tension. She hadn't done anything wrong this time. She was certain. Things had ended _extremely _pleasantly between them the previous night, and he hadn't been at all angry when he'd kissed her awake in the morning.

"Can I see you in your office?" Booth's request sounded distinctly more like a command to Angela's ears.

"Before we discuss whatever is obviously bothering you, you should ask Angela about her identification of the marina victim."

Angela looked back and forth from the FBI Agent to her clueless best friend and shook her head. "Sweetie, I don't think Booth wants to discuss dead bodies at the min—" she swallowed her words as Booth did the unthinkable and grabbed Brennan by the arm. It wasn't a typical Booth "come on and hurry up, Brennan, please" gesture. It was definitely a "move your ass before I kick it into gear" kind of aggression that Angela found very, very swoon-worthy.

Brennan didn't take it well. She pulled away and stood up, glaring at her steaming partner in irritation. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean I appreciate being manhandled anymore than I did previously."

"Is that right?" Booth said darkly. "You enjoyed it plenty last night, as I recall."

Angela's jaw dropped at the usually straitlaced FBI Agent's heated words. Typically, Brennan wasn't bothered by the sexual innuendo. She was, however, growing visibly angry at Booth's cocky assumption that he could just waltz in and act all macho without expected retaliation. Angela mentally fanned herself and made a note to drag Brennan out for drinks ASAP, to find out what exactly she'd missed out on from yesterday's date that had turned Booth into Agent Sexually Frustrated.

"Bones, are we going to do this in your office?" He took a warning step toward her. "Or am I going to maul you right here?"

Finally catching on, Brennan put aside her issues with being 'claimed' and grabbed Booth's hand, towing him in the direction of her couch.

"My office has blinds!" Angela called helpfully. "I could still work on my computer. You wouldn't bother me!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Their full-on grope-fest was truncated by both partners' awareness that a potential suspect in the marina victim murder case was on her way into the Jeffersonian at that very minute. She wasn't officially a suspect yet, and couldn't, as such, be interrogated, but she had been surprisingly willing to come in to talk informally at Brennan's request.

"Ten more days, Bones." Booth lay on top of her, his head buried in her neck, breathing heavily. "Ten more days and then _no more waiting_." He was out of town several days the coming week, so the culmination of their experiment had, by necessity, been pushed to the end of the week, rather than its long-awaited beginning.

Both their clothes were still in place, but fabric had been pushed out of the way as the partners devoured each other as much as possible on the couch, without alerting the rest of the Jeffersonian to their activities.

"We should schedule our vacation time." Brennan's practical side was ever present, even when she was flushed and breathless from Booth's oh-so-pleasantly exacted revenge for her teasing last night. "How many days do you have available, without compromising your Christmas vacation plans with Parker?"

The tiny kisses he'd been pressing on her collarbone stopped. "Rebecca and Jason are taking him skiing to Vermont this Christmas."

Brennan frowned and pushed insistently at his shoulders until he reluctantly levered himself upward and looked into her eyes. The distress she read on his face disturbed her significantly.

"You won't get to see Parker at all?"

"No." Booth rolled off of her and stood. He began to rearrange his mussed clothing. "She and Jason are planning on getting engaged over the holiday and she wants Parker there when it happens."

Brennan sat up. "Surely you can still spend at least a few days with him?"

"Bones, they've already got the tickets," he said curtly. "Okay? I don't have any legal rights over Parker and Rebecca threatened to make it even harder for me to see him if I didn't give her this time with him." He yanked his tie tight. "I don't want to talk about it."

Anger drummed through Brennan's brain at the complete injustice of Rebecca's actions. The woman was obviously a good mother, and seemed intelligent. She must have some other good qualities if Booth had once loved her, but she should still be grateful that Booth was such a committed father, as well as more open to working out a fairer shared-custody agreement.

"I can see your brain working, Bones," he warned, tucking in his shirt. "Don't go there. She's made up her mind and I'm not gonna rock the boat. Every other weekend is already little enough time to spend with my kid."

Brennan recognized the signs clearly by this point. He was hurting and doing his own version of running. She got off the couch and went to him, batting his fingers away as he tried to rearrange the crooked tie he'd already tightened into a chokehold.

"We won't talk about it if you don't want to." Carefully, she pried apart the skewed knot. "But I'm on your side, Booth." She re-knotted the tie neatly and slid it back into place. "Just know that, at least."

She stepped back and began rearranging her own clothing.

"I do know, Bones." Booth sighed. "Thanks." He stepped forward with a tired smile and moved her own fingers away from her blouse. "Let me." His fingers were gentle as he re-buttoned her shirt, and she allowed him to do so, even though it was against her nature to be fussed over in such fashion by anybody.

"So anyway," Booth continued, eyes on the plackets of her shirt as he slid the last couple buttons back into place and dropped his hands to her hips, "I've got about four weeks of vacation left for the year. I'd like to keep two of those to do something with Parker over the summer. Would you be up to spending a couple days with us in June? He really likes you. And I want my son to get to know my girlfriend better."

Brennan felt a warm glow suffuse her. She had all manner of book tours and lectures arranged for the summer, but would alter her plans accordingly. Parker was important to Booth and Booth was important to her.

"I would enjoy that. Should we schedule our Week 6 getaway for ten days?"

"Why not the full two weeks?"

"Rebecca could, ostensibly, change her mind about Christmas. It would be advisable to have a few days in reserve, just in case, Booth."

She was worried he'd be upset at her insistence on broaching a subject he'd clearly delineated as something he did not want to discuss, and was relieved when he nodded.

"Thanks, Bones." Booth brushed his lips across hers lightly. "You just gave me one more reason to love you, you realize."

Embarrassed, she shrugged and pulled away. "I know you already have plans for Week 6, but I also have a few ideas. I suggest we each plan five days."

"I've got the first five then."

The phone rang and and she nodded at him indicating agreement as she grabbed the receiver. "Brennan. Thank you, Paul. We'll be right there." She hung up. "That was the guard downstairs. Our suspect is here. We should discuss our vacation plans further this evening, so tomorrow we can request the time off."

"We have a date, right?" Booth asked, following her out the door.

"Yes. It's time-sensitive, so make sure you're back here by 6:00. And you should wear something more … casual. You would be very out of place and overheated in a suit."

"What is it about you and activities designed to overheat me?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

Before they reached the suspect who was waiting at the entrance to the Jeffersonian, Brennan filled Booth in on the recent developments of the marina case.

"Angela identified our victim as Katrina Alvarez, aged 86. Records indicate she died of a heart attack at a hospital."

"A hospital?" Booth repeated. "That doesn't sound like foul play. We're looking for, what, a killer doctor?"

"I was unable to find any physical evidence indicating that she was murdered, in spite of the way in which her body was disposed of in the marina. Her daughter Lauren is the woman waiting to speak to us. Perhaps she can offer some insights into the case."

Lauren Alvarez was an unusually tall, beautiful woman approximately in her thirties. She wore a short, sleeveless dress that displayed both her long legs and defined arms. Unlike many suspects, she approached Booth and Brennan rather than waiting for them to come to her.

She held out a manicured hand. "Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, I presume?"

They shook hands perfunctorily and exchanged stilted greetings, before Brennan led them back to her office where she closed the door as Booth ushered the woman into a chair. Also unusually, the suspect was the one who started talking, rather than waiting to be questioned.

"Dr. Brennan, you said on the phone that this had something to do with my mother?" Her voice was lightly accented and well-modulated.

"That's correct. Can you tell us when and how your mother died, Ms. Alvarez?"

Booth cringed at Brennan's typically blunt foray into sensitive waters.

Lauren sat back and smoothed her dress over her knees. "She passed away two years ago of a heart attack." Her voice betrayed no signs of emotion. "I was visiting her at her assisted living facility when she started feeling sick, although the facility's manager was questioned in regards to several complaints lodged by other residents, indicating my mother had been feeling ill for several days prior to the actual heart attack. We called an ambulance and she went into cardiac arrest en route to the hospital. Doctors in the Emergency Room were unable to revive her."

Booth's gut spoke up immediately, insisting that something was wrong with this picture. The woman wasn't acting the part of a bereaved daughter. Even after two years, there should have been some sort of sign of outward sorrow at her mother's passing.

"What did you do with your mother's remains?"

"_Bones!" _Booth hissed. "A little compassion, huh?" He redirected his attention toward Lauren. "I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Alvarez. Where was your mother buried?"

"How is that any different from my question?" his partner demanded.

He warned her quiet with a roll of his eyes.

"She wasn't buried," Lauren replied. "She had a fear of being buried alive and had always requested that she be cremated. We did as she asked and spread her ashes out in my garden, where she used to like to sit and read."

"Although hospital records indicate the body was discharged into your care, your mother was definitely not cremated," Brennan retorted.

"Lying isn't advisable when the FBI is involved, Ms. Alvarez," Booth added severely. "You wanna try again?"

For the first time, Lauren began to look uncomfortable. She picked at an invisible seam on her dress. "Why would I lie to you about my mother's burial plans?"

"You tell us." Booth sat back and crossed his arms. "And while you're at it, maybe you can explain why her complete skeleton turned up at the bottom of the Potomac. That's not common for people who have been cremated, Ms. Alvarez. Usually their bones become ashes, if I understand the process at all."

Lauren's face drained of all color, leaving her dark complexion a ghostly gray. All traces of her earlier poise vanished. "You found my mother's _skeleton? _That's impossible!_"_

"Would you like to see her remains?" Brennan asked crisply, and Booth didn't chastise her. He hated being lied to as much as she did. "We have conclusive evidence to indicate the skeleton found at the marina on Sept. 6th is your mother, including dental records and a genetic abnormality of the soft palate that correlates with photographs of the victim."

"I was told this wasn't an official interrogation." Lauren got to her feet. "I agreed to come in as a courtesy and I don't appreciate the way I've been treated. I will be lodging a complaint with each of your superiors."

"It became an interrogation when you lied," Booth informed her. "You're now an official suspect in the murder of your mother, Ms. Alvarez. I'd suggest you sit down and talk to us, or call a lawyer."

"Murd—" The woman's almond eyes widened. "You think I murdered my mother?"

"There's actually no direct evidence to suggest she was murdered—ouch!"

Booth kicked Brennan to shut her up. "Sit down, Ms. Alvarez. Whether or not the remains of your mother indicate foul play, her body was still found in a public waterway and that requires some kind of explanation."

Lauren sank back down. Abruptly, she folded in on herself and began weeping. Ragged sobs tore from her, shaking her slender frame.

Brennan glanced at Booth, not knowing how to handle the theatrics. He sighed and shoved a tissue box across the coffee table. Lauren extracted a Kleenex and blew her nose loudly.

"It's not what you think," she sniffled. "Really."

The partners looked at each other in mutual aggravation.

"Then tell us what it _is," _Booth suggested impatiently.

"When I was growing up, my family was quite wealthy. My father owned several advertising businesses, so my mother was able to stay at home and raise us." Lauren dabbed at her eyes, wiping off a considerable amount of mascara in the process. "We had the best of everything. The nicest cars, designer clothes, tutors to supplement our private school education, everything. My family had _class_, you understand."

Booth grimaced. While he couldn't get onboard with Gordon Gordon's notion that he had an obsession with disliking wealthy people, he definitely didn't tend to afford them the same sympathy that he had for hardscrabble folks who might have done wrong in the process of just trying to survive.

"My mother insisted on etiquette lessons, classes on fine art and architecture, holidays in the most exotic places—"

"We understand, Ms. Alvarez," Brennan interrupted. "You believe that your moneyed upbringing reflects not only on your social status, but also on your morality."

Booth blinked. Even though he agreed, it was still a completely un-Brennanlike leap, with almost no evidence supporting the conclusion.

"You believe you're better than other people," the anthropologist added succinctly.

"You didn't let me finish," Lauren said bitterly. "Yes, we were better than other people. Were. My family worked hard to give us the very best. Not like other families that accept mediocrity."

Brennan nudged Booth's knee warningly, probably aware he was about to blow up.

"Get to the point, Ms. Alvarez," she said coolly.

"My father died in an unfortunate accident—and no, I did not kill him, the paperwork clearly explains the freak mistake that resulted in his death. My mother had no knowledge of the world. She'd always relied on my father for everything, and she made many bad financial decisions immediately after his death, which drove us to bankruptcy in spite of everything my father had established to prevent exactly such an occurrence. In short order, we lost everything." She scrubbed at her face, removing more layers of makeup. Underneath all the war paint, she was turning out to be less attractive and more peaked.

Booth tapped his foot, urging her to hurry up.

"My mother managed to keep us alive, but she was never the same. She became estranged from my brothers, who were angry at her naivete and her refusal to accept help after my father's death. I'm the only family member who cared for her in her old age. When she died—" the woman's voice finally wavered. "Despite appearances, Dr. Brennan, I'm not well-off. I was taught to present myself well and I continue to attempt it, but I work as a secretary. I don't earn much money. When she died, I wanted to give her the beautiful funeral she'd always wanted, but I couldn't afford it. I couldn't possibly just cremate her. That would be so … common. My mother was not common. She deserved better."

Booth jumped to his own conclusion. "You couldn't afford to bury her in the style that she wanted, so you weighed her feet down with concrete blocks and threw her in the river instead."

"Booth," Brennan objected, "You have no evidence to support that theory."

"She would have preferred that ending to a wooden casket and a pauper's grave," Lauren said vehemently.

Brennan looked as shocked as Booth had ever seen her.

"You elected to discard your mother's remains in the river rather than bury her in a simple fashion?" Brennan got to her feet.

Booth stood up uncertainly. "Bones—"

"My mother vanished when I was 15, Ms. Alvarez. I had no remains to bury. Not simply, not ostentatiously. I had _nothing_." Fury raced across her face. "You have no moral superiority due to your wealthy upbringing. The maggots my entomologist works with are more morally inclined. You disgust me."

She stalked from the room without a backwards glance.

"As you can see, I didn't murder my mother," Lauren continued blithely, like nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. "May I go now? I have a hair appointment."

"No." Booth glowered at Lauren and reached out to haul her to her feet. He pulled out his handcuffs and cuffed the protesting woman's hands none-too-gently behind her back. "Ms. Alvarez, you're under arrest for the improper disposal of a corpse and the contamination of a public waterway, as well as for attempting to impede a federal investigation by lying to an agent. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He didn't see Brennan again until later that evening, after he'd taken Lauren back to the Bureau and dealt with all the paperwork that came with arresting a person. After a quick stop home to change into jeans and a T-shirt, he arrived at the Jeffersonian at 5:10, quite a while before their scheduled date.

She was standing on the far end of the otherwise surprisingly deserted platform with her back turned toward him, bent over a set of shattered remains. At any other time, her always-alert senses would have been immediately aware of his presence. But, focused as she was on the task in front of her, Booth knew he could lean quietly against a nearby desk and observe unnoticed. He loved to watch Brennan work.

However purposeful the building's structure was—and Brennan would undoubtedly argue that each and every part had a specific scientific rationale—in Booth's eyes the set-up seemed designed to intimidate, particularly at night.

Furniture in the room was at a minimum and primarily utilitarian in function—chairs, computer desk, various large work surfaces, microscope stands, file cabinets, storage drawers and multiple monitors hanging overhead. An iPod docking station with speakers was a small concession to humanity. Tall steel columns, akin to construction girders, held up a vast ceiling otherwise unseen in the darkened room.

Elevated as it was from the rest of the room and surrounded by metal railing, Sweets had once commented that the platform resembled the bridge of a starship. Bright white carbon lamps spotlighted the glass-surfaced, glowing table at the center of this 'ship,' with Brennan at its helm, in her natural element.

As usual, she worked standing. Arms crossed, she scrutinized the thousands of bone fragments before her, clearly turning the pieces of the puzzle over in her agile mind.

Booth wondered, as always, what she read in the remains. What exactly did she see on that table? How could she tell the bridge of a nose from an eye socket, for example? In all those thousands of tiny fragments, how did she see far enough ahead to reconstruct a forehead, a jawline, a chin? In his mind there was no question that the bones spoke to her as clearly as people's emotions spoke to him.

When she finally responded, it was with purpose. She leaned forward to slide one tiny bone chip across the glass surface until it met with another seemingly identical splinter. Apparently disliking this new arrangement, she propped an elbow on the table and shifted the bone's position again. Then she rested her chin in her hand and resumed her scrutiny.

He could think of a thousand adjectives to describe her, but none suited her so well as the first word that came to mind every time he caught her like this, completely unguarded. With her hair pulled back in a loose bun that glinted copper and gold under the harsh lights, her full lips pursed in concentration and the wrinkle of a curious frown creasing her forehead, she was stubborn, endearing, committed and brilliant. But, above all, as she patiently called forth the facial structure which a murderer had sought to erase from living memory, Booth's partner was beautiful.

Occasionally, she smiled as she worked and Booth felt privileged to witness this unusually tender side of his pragmatic scientist. Her long fingers skillfully manipulated minute shards into place until, apparently satisfied, she finally sank down into the chair and reached for the ubiquitous bottle of Elmer's.

He waited until she'd glued several shards in place, then knocked on a steel girder lightly to warn her of his presence. Brennan acknowledged his arrival with a nod, but didn't actually look up at him.

Booth stepped up beside her. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't play that game, Bones. We're past that, remember? You kind of flipped out on me while questioning Alvarez."

"I did not flip out. I had contributed everything I could to the interrogation, and felt my presence was no longer required." She affixed a tiny fragment into place with tweezers.

"C'mon, Bones—"

She straightened and gave him a cold scientist look he hadn't seen for quite some time. "You didn't want to discuss your situation with Parker earlier, and I allowed you that space."

The woman had no tact. Zero.

"Okay, Bones." He nodded and punched his closed fists together. "You want to know about my situation with Parker?"

"Booth, that's not what—"

"Here it is: I fell in love with a woman, got her pregnant, then asked her to marry me and she turned me down flat. I didn't get to see my son being born. Hell, I didn't even know he'd arrived until six weeks later, when Rebecca decided that maybe she could use some help with his raising after all. You don't know what that's like, Bones, missing out on the first moments of your child's life."

Bitterness leaked into his tone and he didn't try to stop it. The memory was an open wound that refused to heal, even with time. "Fast forward eleven years, and I have nothing that says Parker is my child, other than a DNA test his mother insisted on taking." He gestured in disgust at the mere idea.

"You don't agree with marriage, Bones, but I'll tell you one thing, it has a definite purpose that has nothing to do with romance. It gives you some kind of legal say in the life of your wife, your husband, your child. As it stands, I have no rights to Parker at all, no say in his upbringing, his healthcare, nothing other than what Rebecca decides is okay. If her boyfriend decides they should move to some foreign country, whether or not she takes my son is at the mercy of the court system and whether they decide I'm actually his dad, even though we're not married."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth had been on edge when he arrived to visit Brennan earlier in the day, but this was an entirely different form of tension. His eyes were pools of cold, hard pain.

"I know how committed you are to your son, Booth, and it's blatantly unjust that you have to fight so hard to exercise your parental rights when so many children lack a similarly devoted father figure." She hovered by the gurney with the bones, wanting to go to him and yet not sure if that was the right thing to do. "I don't know what the right thing to say is, in order to convey my regret for your pain and my unintentional aggravation of it."

"You said the right thing, Bones. Now can I get a hug to go with it?" He opened his arms and she walked into them, more relieved than she cared to admit that he wasn't furious at her thoughtless jab about Rebecca.

"I'm sorry."

"Just don't shut me out after all we've been through." He nudged her chin up from where it rested on his chest. "That's all I'm asking, Bones. When did you get so short, by the way?"

"Short?"

"Usually I don't have to look down quite so far to see you." He glanced at her shoes. "No boot heels, for a change. I kinda like having you crane your neck to look up at me. It's cute."

"I'm not craning my neck," Brennan protested. "The height difference is minimal. And I am not cute."

"Oh, you're cute, Dr. Brennan." His face took on a cocky grin that Brennan was more than happy to see, in light of the tension shift it brought with it. "Cute and sexy."

She swatted him, but not before he kissed her nose teasingly. "Nothin' wrong with being a cute squint, Bones."

"I've worn tennis shoes around you before, Booth."

"Not when I was holding you so closely." Again, his face changed, this time transitioning into the latent sexuality that had been hovering closer and closer to the surface as their relationship progressed. "I love having you in my arms, Bones."

"I like being in them," she admitted grudgingly.

Booth covered her mouth with his and they kissed for a long minute before she pulled away. "We need to get to the venue before parking is no longer available. And I need to change."

He raked her with a heated gaze. "What you're wearing now looks just fine."

"Meet me at the front in ten minutes," she instructed, ignoring his comment.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's eyes popped as Brennan walked down the stairs of the platform, headed straight for him in _his _Zeppelin T-shirt, with _his _belt wrapped around her small waist, dammit. He swore she'd somehow found a way to shorten the shirt, so that even more of her legs were now on display. And they looked tanned. How the hell could anybody be tan in Washington D.C. in late August? Particularly a squint who rarely ventured out of her museum?

"You're not wearing that on our date!"

"I don't recall asking your opinion about my clothing," she noted calmly, pushing past him and onto the front portico of the Jeffersonian.

"Dammit, Bones, I'm not kidding!" Booth chased her towards the parking lot, admittedly lingering a few steps behind just because he was allowed to look and the view was _so _worth it. "Wherever the hell we're going, every guy in the room will be stripping you naked!"

She unlocked the SUV with her remote from several feet away. "While I'm not wholly familiar with the setting, my understanding of where we're going is that it will be dark."

"Dark?" Booth climbed inside the car. "That's even worse, Bones. Then they can really go to town with their fantasies."

"I'm certain you'll defend my honor if necessary," Brennan said sarcastically, sliding into the driver's seat. As she got in, the damn shirt that Booth now wished he'd never bought rode up, showcasing a long length of toned thigh. The notion that anybody else might get a look at all that luscious skin made his brain boil.

"Angela taught me an expression recently that I believe is appropriate for the look on your face." His partner steered the SUV out of the parking lot.

"Yeah?" Booth muttered, not at all interested as he continued to sneak peeks as every time Brennan depressed the accelerator, he got other inch of skin to keep his fantasies company.

"Down, boy. Down."

Booth jerked his head up and stared suspiciously at Brennan. He didn't buy the completely innocent look on her face as she maneuvered onto the highway.

"You're doing this deliberately," he accused. "Trying to get me to break."

"In this case, your gut is wrong," she answered. "What I'm wearing is very appropriate for our date."

"What you're wearing wouldn't be appropriate for any date except one in bed," he muttered disgustedly.

They argued for another fifteen minutes, until Brennan cut their typical back and forth short as she exited the highway at the sign for the Verizon Center.

"I hope you find this date enjoyable, Booth." She sounded unusually worried.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I based it upon a comment you made some time ago, when I briefly dated Hacker."

"You're taking me somewhere that you and Hacker went?" Booth said in disbelief. Even _Brennan _wasn't usually that dense.

"No," Brennan answered patiently. "My memory is eidetic, so I recall small details that others automatically forget. Do you remember the social contract he attempted to make me with?"

Booth felt his jaw clench at the sound of that. Hacker might be his boss, but if he'd tried to make an untoward move on Brennan, his subordinate would have more than a little something to say about it, even if it got him jailed. "What're you talking about, Bones? Did Hacker put the moves on you when you weren't expecting it?"

Brennan's surprised laughter filled the SUV. "Andrew was always a gentleman, Booth. As interested as he was in me, I believe he would actually have been afraid to try anything physical, for fear I'd hurt him. Angela tells me I have a reputation in the Hoover Building for aggression."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't far off about getting hurt if he'd tried something," Booth mumbled under his breath.

"We weren't even dating at the time," she reminded him, braking at a red light and turning to look at him in pitying amusement.

"Because you were the one not interested," he reminded her. "Not me."

She sighed. "My intention was not to recall my brief relationship with Hacker. I was simply trying to remind you of the gift he gave me at the time _you _were dating Catherine. She gave you a tie covered with cetaceans."

"And he gave you a mix tape." Booth finally remembered. "You liked all the songs on it except Zeppelin's stuff. How could I forget?" He snorted in disgust, eyeing her outfit once again. "You really have no right to be wearing that shirt, Bones. As hot as it looks on you, you don't appreciate their music. It's a sin."

Brennan rolled her eyes and started the car forward as the endless light finally turned green. "I don't believe in sins. However, maybe tonight I'll recant my original views on the music. I _am _capable of change, Booth."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Booth twisted in his seat to stare at her, realizing almost simultaneously that the cars around them all seemed to be headed in the same direction, and that there were people all over the nearby sidewalks scalping tickets. "Bones—you're not telling me—"

Her satisfied smile as she focused on the road ahead almost sent him through the roof.

"No way," he swore. "The reunion tour wasn't even supposed to swing through D.C. No way, Bones. I don't believe it for a minute."

She shrugged and pointed at the glove compartment. "Just in case you'd like to start believing."

His hands almost trembled as he pulled open the small doorframe and extracted a LiveNation envelope. They _did _tremble as he tugged out the first ticket and read the name of the artist and venue.

**Led Zeppelin In Concert At Verizon Center**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, feeling an up swell of satisfaction at the apparent success of her second date. Booth was gaping at the tickets in his hand, and he hadn't even seen the rest of her surprise. Needing confirmation that he was really happy with what she had planned for their evening, she casually inquired,

"Are my musical sins now forgiven, Father Seeley?"

Booth looked over at her through glazed eyes. He didn't even chastise her on her calling him 'Father,' which Brennan realized belatedly, could have been viewed as mocking. "Is this real or am I dreaming?"

The slow traffic drew to a halt at yet another light and Brennan put the car in park and turned to her partner. She leaned out of her seat and kissed him, then pulled back with an impish grin.

"Is that sufficient proof of reality?"

He stared at her for another second, then let out an ear-splitting whoop that made her ears ring.

"**HOLY SHIT, BONES! YOU GOT US TICKETS TO SEE ZEPPELIN!"**

It was half a question, half a statement, all a shout of absolute exultation. Brennan sat back and enjoyed as Booth ranted and raved, pumped his fist, rolled down the window and bellowed, cursed for good measure, bounced up and down in the seat until it felt like the entire car was rocking, even thumped the ceiling of her new SUV dangerously fiercely, and generally just made an adorable idiot of himself.

She loved the man. Angela had once told her that she would just 'know' at 'the right time' and her words had never made any sense to Brennan. Over the last few months, as their experiment became more and extended, she'd realized she cared for Booth deeply, in a manner that far outweighed their professional relationship. After he left her with the bitter realization that her life had no 'flavor' without him, she had confessed her feelings, meaning every word of her declaration at American University. But she'd never been as sure of her emotions as at this moment.

If love involved total happiness due to another individual's joy—and both Angela and Booth had repeatedly demonstrated the validity of that definition, with their selfless compassion for other human beings, particularly those closest to them-then there was no doubt in Brennan's mind that she deeply loved the melodramatic, devoted, macho FBI Agent currently acting like a little boy in her passenger's seat.

"You haven't seen everything in the envelope," she suggested lightly, when Booth stopped yelling long enough for her to get a word in.

He tilted the contents of the envelope into his palm. The light turned green at that exact moment, but Brennan couldn't help a fast look to see what the look was on his face now. Angela had assured her that backstage passes, such as she could procure with her publisher's help, would make Booth a very happy man, and she apparently hadn't lied.

"Bones." Booth sat back in the seat, a stunned look on his face. "Bones, this time I'm the one who doesn't know what the right thing is to say. You—" he gripped the purple and orange plastic necklaces in his fist so tightly that Brennan was afraid they might break. "You got us tickets to see Zeppelin's Reunion. Tickets that have been sold out for, like, the last decade. _And _you got us—you got us—_you got us backstage passes_! What—what—what—_how_—"

Okay, the man was actually spluttering. Brennan smiled from ear to ear, soaking it in.

"The tickets have only been on sale since last August," Brennan corrected. "And you don't need to say anything. The last months—the last years, in all truth—have been more than sufficient thanks. I won't always say I love you at the correct moment, or with the frequency you would like, but perhaps I can find ways to show you instead." She spoke softly, offering up a vulnerable part of herself to him that nobody else had ever seen.

The light turned green again and they rolled forward, with Brennan having to focus more closely due to the exceedingly high volume of traffic, much of which consisted of people who appeared to be drunk and were weaving in and out of jam-packed lanes. It wasn't until much later, when they'd arrived at the Verizon Center, paid for parking and found a space that Booth finally said something.

He waited until she put the car in park, took the key out of the ignition and unbuckled her seatbelt. Then, before she knew it, he had somehow lifted her from his seat into his—and she wasn't a small woman, no matter what he said, so it wasn't exactly an easy feat to accomplish so seamlessly—and was looking down at her with such delighted wonder in his eyes that Brennan hoped her photographic memory did indeed remember every single glimmer and glint. She'd never before really understood the meaning of the term 'adoring' and had always attributed it as ridiculously hyperbolic. Until tonight.

"One year from today," Booth said quietly, resting the back of his hand against her cheek, "In this exact same place, I'm going to ask you to marry me, Temperance Brennan. You can say no, or you can say yes, and either will be fine, but I'm going to ask either way. And I'm going to spend the next 365 days trying to convince you what a good thing married life would be."

His comments earlier in the evening about the legal rights afforded by marriage had not been lost on Brennan. When he'd been dying in the hospital after taking the bullet meant for her, Brennan hadn't been allowed to see him. She couldn't sit by his side and hold his hand. She couldn't talk to him. And she couldn't make any kind of decisions regarding his care. Some of her worst nightmares were about that day, about the helplessness she'd felt when they'd turned off the machines without even bothering to consult her, and the burial arrangements that were made by family members who knew_ nothing_ about what his preferences would have been.

In all truth, that had been the first time she'd actually realized marriage might have some kind of benefits attached to it. But she wasn't ready to tell him that yet, anymore than she was capable of telling him that tonight he had added reason #2 to her list of possible reasons why she might one day take that leap. Marriage to Booth would mean she might legally be able to find some way to loosen Rebecca's control of Parker, so Booth would have more time with his child. She loved him enough to consider that a valid reason to at least explore a new way of considering the whole question of matrimony.

"You're going to propose to me in an SUV?" Brennan asked, deliberately making her tone amused. "It's not my area of expertise, but I believe there's a more traditional way of doing things."

"Right here, Bones," he said intensely. "Parking spot 491 at the Verizon Center. In 365 days."

"You've mentioned marriage twice in almost as many days, Booth. No more for one year. All right?"

"All right."

"Good." She smiled. "Now let's go backstage and meet … whoever it is we're supposed to be meeting."

"Not until I've kissed you until neither one us can see straight," Booth said flatly.

When Brennan was so weak-kneed she was certain Booth would have to assist her in getting out of the SUV, he finally let her go. In place of the intensity that had both alarmed and elated her a few minutes earlier, there was pure, cocky, totally Alpha Male joy.

"You're about to get an education in the finest music known to man, Dr. Brennan. And don't give me any squint-speak for "oh, that's exaggerated.' Led Zeppelin is music God on Earth." Amusingly, he crossed himself automatically after blaspheming, and Brennan could see him making a mental note to add that 'sin' to his confession list.

They staggered from the SUV, neither of them at all steady. 'Drunk with excitement' was an idiom Brennan could finally put into context as Booth bobbed and weaved just like all the other strangely attired people milling around them, who appeared to have blood alcohol levels far above the legal limit even though the concert hadn't even started yet. He let out multiple loud yells for good measure as they made their way down the parking deck, repeatedly informing Brennan—wholly unnecessarily-that _they were going backstage to see Zeppelin they were going backstage to see Zeppelin they were going backstage to see Zeppelin _and, by the way, in case she didn't realize_ they were going backstage to see Zeppelin! _

"I know where we're going, Booth," she finally said, avoiding his attempts to bear hug her for the tenth time in ten steps. "I purchased the tickets and the backstage passes. Out of curiosity, have you changed your mind about the appropriateness of my outfit?"

The car that he flattened her against apparently didn't have an alarm, or it would have gone off in a big way.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Disclaimer-Yes, I'm well aware that Robert Plant has clearly stated that another Zeppelin reunion tour will not occur again, so the above is total fiction. I couldn't resist the idea, though. Just indulge my need to make Booth very, very happy, okay? And isn't it nice seeing Brennan so excited to be the one **_**making **_**him so happy? =) **

**Reviews and hits dropped quite a bit last chapter. Those of you who did review, thank you ****so much****. If you're reading, I'd love if you'd drop me a line and let me know what you think. It gives me something really nice to come home to after a long, busy day teaching. =)**

**Ch. 63 is inching closer … **


	58. Sartorial surrender

**A/N: First off, I owe apologies for the A/N mix-up which many of you spotted in 57. The 'delaying' conversation (that winds up not delaying anything, in spite of what you may read), is in **_**this **_**chapter. The first weeks back teaching have truly fried my brain, sorry.**

**A huge THANK YOU to all the wonderful readers who left me feedback for 57. I've had a very difficult last couple of weeks—several of my new 6****th**** graders tested at a 2****nd**** grade reading level, and coping with that, along with my 9 preps, is proving extremely challenging. So coming home to your kind reviews really cheered me up tremendously. I apologize if I have yet to respond in person. I'm just swamped with work, but very, ****very**** much appreciate your taking the time to leave me a note.**

**Many thanks to Eternal Destiny for her wonderful beta work, and her willingness to listen as I vent about my stressful days. She just updated **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology **_**and it's ****good** **folks, so go read! =) **

**Thanks also to Amilyn for providing hugely useful teaching advice and just overall for helping a fellow teacher hang in through the rough spots.**

**Thanks to Byakko-Hameron for the musical valentine suggestion.**

**Finally, this chapter is for EmmyMayyy. Many thanks for the 'date' suggestion towards the end of this chapter. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_He watched her. The greatest band in the history of Rock n Roll was center stage, not six feet from the front row seats Brennan had procured for them. The same band Booth had gotten to hang with for a full 15 minutes backstage, whose members had amiably autographed Brennan's now sanctified shirt that he would never allow her to wear again. Booth almost hadn't even minded when the places they scrawled their names came perilously close to what he now considered his territory. They were live, they were loud, and he couldn't focus on the amazing guitar riffs, or the anthemic choruses, because he was too busy staring at his partner. _

_It was a once in a lifetime moment for Booth, not because it was likely Led Zeppelin would never perform together again, or because he definitely wouldn't be lucky enough to see them a second time if they did, but because his partner was beside him, living it up, literally letting down her auburn hair and flying as Robert Plant—self-proclaimed golden God of Rock—crooned __**There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold**__, driving his fans into a frenzy. Booth's very own Stairway to Heaven wasn't onstage behind an electric guitar or a kickass drum set. His Stairway was standing right beside him, blue-eyed and ecstatic, caught up in the rush of something far outside the realm of science._

_She didn't know the words to any of the songs, and her dancing was comical, to say the least, but she was __**into**__ it. She shouted bizarre comments about the anthropological meaning of the concert—what the band's onstage antics meant, what the crowd's impassioned worship of their music idols reflected. She jumped up and down, landing on his toes more than once without apologizing. She clapped. She spun in circles, jostling other fans. Occasionally, she even turned to look at him with delight, urging him to join her._

_As the tune built to a crescendo, she stepped back and settled into his chest, reaching back to lift his arms to her waist. Booth leaned in close to her ear to sing the lyrics, so she could follow along, but she beat him to the punch by tilting her head sideways and sealing her mouth with his._

_Plant sang; Page and Jones played; Booth and Brennan kissed. It was, by both of their exacting standards, just about the closest thing to a perfect moment._

_**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**_

It was hard to know whether his ears were ringing more from the concert of from Brennan's throaty screaming.

"I'm thinking I need a pair of ear plugs for Week 6, Bones," Booth teased as they pulled up at her place. "Standing next to you all night left me partially deaf."

"That would be because of the completely unsafe volume of music that was sustained throughout the evening, rather than because of my own shouting!" she answered, still halfway yelling as though they were still at the venue.

"Unsafe volume or not, you liked it, Bones. Admit it." They sat in the car, still coming down from the concert high.

"It was an enjoyable evening, though I have no intention of purchasing their music to listen to recreationally! I would like to take you to a concert of music that I enjoy, Booth!"

He couldn't exactly say no after tonight, in spite of his utter dread at being dragged to some naked drum circle or windchime orchestra. "Sure, Bones. Just not tomorrow. I'll be out of town until late with some trainees, so you'll have to do without me for the day."

"I have a lecture at Georgetown in the evening!" She unlocked the car doors.

Booth reached over to tap her lips with his index finger. "Stop yelling, Bones. You'll wake the dead."

"The dead can't hear us, Booth. Even if they could, there's not a cemetery nearby. And I believe my hearing may be permanently damaged," she complained, a little more quietly.

"You'll be fine by tomorrow morning." Booth stuck a finger inside his ear. "Not sure I can say the same for me."

She rolled her eyes. "I finished reading the book about cats and believe I am now sufficiently educated to care for a pet. Would you be willing to bring Joseph over while I take a shower?"

The idea of getting trapped with her on the couch when she was, yet again, all soft and fragrant and wet, and he could do very little to take advantage of it, made Booth's blood run hot and cold at the same time.

"His name's Caesar. Not Joseph. Sure, I'll go get him while you freshen up."

"His name is Joseph," Brennan corrected. "He already responds to the name and it would confuse him to change it. Why would you name a cat after a historical figure?"

"**Claw**dius Caesar, Bones? Get it? Ha!"

"Next time you make fun of my jokes, I'll remind you of that terrible pun," she chided. "Go get my cat, Booth. We can make Caesar his middle name, but I will continue to refer to him as Joseph. You know I dislike nicknames."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was just putting dessert in the oven when he knocked on her door. Brennan smiled. She fluffed her damp hair, loosened the belt on her sexiest red robe—she remembered what he'd said about his favorite color—and made sure there was a fair amount of cleavage on display before opening the door.

"Hello, Joseph," she crooned in delight, taking the fluffy little animal from Booth's arms and carrying him into the apartment.

"Uh, 'Hi, Booth? Thanks for going all the way home to get the pet _you_ gave me?'" Booth called sarcastically.

Brennan ignored his sulking and took Joseph to the room she'd outfitted for him to stay in for a few days, which the book said was necessary in order to help a cat feel safe as he was gradually introduced to his new environment.

Crouching on the floor beside him, she indicated his litter box, water bowl and food dish. "I have eliminated all plants from the apartment that would be toxic to your species, and have purchased a variety of toys designed to fulfill your predatory instincts in a safe fashion." She lifted a catnip mouse and held it out for his inspection. Suspiciously, the cat sniffed several times, before reaching out and pawing curiously. The mouse squeaked when he poked at it, and Joseph puffed up instantly into a ball of orange and white fur, hissing and spitting furiously before pouncing.

Brennan laughed and crouched on the floor watching him wrestle with his new toy. It was a few minutes before she became aware that Booth hadn't said a word in several minutes. She looked around and found him in the doorway, glaring at her. He'd showered and changed clothes at home, and was now wearing a black FBI Tee, paired with equally black jeans, both of which served to make him look even more aggressive and appealing than he already did, standing as he was with his arms crossed, scowling.

"You deliberately wore that robe so when you bent over I'd see London and France."

Brennan stood up and joined him in the hallway, shutting the door to the room firmly. "London and France?"

"Yeah, Bones. London and France," Booth growled, backing her against the wall. "I see London, I see France, I see Dr. Brennan's crazy hot** red **little underpants that she put on just to make my head spin."

"I don't see the correlation between my underwear and Europe—" her words were cut off by his mouth clamping on hers and his tongue doing a slow, teasing sweep of her lower lip. His hands settled over her barely-covered backside and boosted her upwards unexpectedly, so her legs rode his lean hips. She locked her legs around him tightly and clutched at his shoulders as he carried her into the kitchen and deposited her on the very edge of the counter.

He held her shoulder with one hand and dragged the other large palm down the thin fabric at the front of her barely-closed robe. Brennan arched automatically into the rough, claiming caress, demanding more.

Booth's low chuckle told her this time he planned on being the one doing the teasing. "Close your eyes, baby. This is an exercise in _feeling_."

She was unaccustomed to following orders, but obeying his command came easily. Her eyes had barely fluttered shut when he parted the sides of her robe and slid his hands inside onto her bare skin. If she hadn't had her eyes closed, they would have rolled back for certain as he stroked her under the sheer fabric, driving her crazy with the lightest of touches and the occasional possessive sweep down and across her midriff.

"B—_Booth_," she gasped, clutching at his head as he followed their rules to the letter and touched her body with his lips, but only through the thin fabric. "Dinner will get cold—"

"Aw, you made me dinner, Bones?"

With her eyes closed, his deep voice became an additional caress, playing across her skin and making her shiver.

"What if I said I want you as my dinner?" he whispered, skimming one hand across her thighs, which remained wrapped around him. "Would you break, Bones? Would you feed me?"

This couldn't possibly be her partner saying such things, she thought fuzzily, as he leisurely consumed whatever bare skin he could get his hands and mouth on without breaking the ridiculous rules they'd both agreed to. The damn robe was so thin, she might as well have been naked—she wanted to be naked, needed it—_she couldn't break. She_ _**wouldn't**__ break. Not before he did!_

Digging her hands into his hair, she yanked him up to her level, away from the sensitive flesh he was exploring through the robe, and glared into his intense, laughing eyes. "I don't generally make dinner for my dates, Booth. It would be polite to show some appreciation for my culinary efforts."

Almost as if she'd had no effect on him, he stepped back, a smile hovering at the corner of his lips. "I won this round, Bones."

"What are you talking about?" she huffed, dragging the robe closed around her. "I didn't break!"

"Your exercise in 'feeling' me up went on for like 30 minutes and I survived it." Booth grinned slowly, infuriatingly certain of himself. "You lasted what, 5 minutes, with my own exercise, Bones? The cook couldn't take the heat in her own kitchen."

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

When he'd walked in and seen her skimpy outfit, he had known what she was up to immediately. He _did _realize he was lucky that Brennan didn't throw his steak dinner in the garbage and kick him to the corner. Booth was well aware, as he enjoyed a mouthful of chunky garlic mashed potatoes, that she didn't like to lose anymore than he did. And he had won tonight, definitely.

"You didn't win, Booth!" Brennan insisted, forking up a bite of her Greek salad. "Winning would imply that I capitulated."

"Use whatever fancy words you want, Bones, but that round was definitely all me," he answered. "Really great dinner, by the way. Thanks for cooking."

She fussed and fumed her way through dinner, but the steam was finally dying down enough by the time that he started on her German chocolate cake that they could actually discuss their vacation plans for the coming weeks.

"So, here's what I'm thinking," Booth suggested, inhaling a rich morsel and sighing with pleasure. "We got a hit on our foster care suspect in Arizona this morning, based on Angela' composite. Damn, this is good cake."

"Would you like to 'be alone with it'?" Brennan inquired snippily, still not completely over his victory.

"Maybe if you were the plate," Booth answered with a grin. "Gotcha, Bones. So anyway, we got a hit on—whoa!"

Brennan slid from her seat and yanked his chair back so hard he almost sent the plate flying. She draped herself over him smugly and retrieved his wayward dessert. "Turning me into the plate would break our rules. However, earlier you suggested that I might … feed you." She lifted a forkful of cake and held it up to his lips. "Open up, Booth."

As his mouth closed around the fork helplessly, savoring the creamy, decadent texture, Brennan wiggled over top of him evilly.

"What were you saying about our suspect?" She retrieved the fork from his mouth and fed herself a bite of cake, licking the frosting off the fork in a way that was probably illegal in 6 different states. "She's in Arizona?" Brennan popped the fork back between his lips, spearing him in the process and laughing as he attempted to yelp, chew, and look her in the eyes at the same time. "Poor _baby_," she crooned, leaning in to his injured lip and nipping it aggressively.

Okay, he really needed to regain control of this situation. She had a red robe on. Her bra was red—he'd caught a peek, even though he'd made sure not to look while he had her on the kitchen counter. Her panties were red. Her lips were red. Booth was coasting on a haze of literal red desire and the way she was sitting on him, with her robe riding up all the way, was totally unfair. It wasn't like _he _was allowed to strip to his skivvies and rock back and forth against her!

"Maybe a fork isn't a good idea."

The tone in her voice made him come back to reality, too late. Brennan spread a thin layer of chocolate across her lips. "You like chocolate, don't you, Booth?" Then her sweet, red hot mouth was on his and the world went up in orange flames.

Mustering the microscopic portion of self-control that he had left in him, Booth resisted the temptation of her molten chocolate kiss and pulled away.

"Talk, Bones." He put his hands on her shoulders firmly. "We need to _talk_ about our vacation plans."

"I thought you were tired of talking." Brennan's eyes gleamed with victory. "Round 2 goes to me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Both of them were worked up enough that they decided to take one of their by-now almost traditional late night walks. Crossing over to the park several blocks from her house, they held hands and walked rapidly around the lake.

"Okay, so our suspect is in Arizona," Booth began, picking up where they'd left off earlier. "They've got her in lock-up and she's enough of a flight risk based on her criminal record that she won't be released for at least a week. Monday and Tuesday, I have a prior commitment and am out of town again, but I was thinking we could fly down together on Wednesday to interrogate her, and then just start our vacation from there."

"That sounds ideal," she replied. "So your half of the vacation will have us in Arizona?"

"No way. I want our first time to be somewhere a little more romantic than a place with nothing but tumbleweeds and lizards, Bones. I have a completely different place in mind."

"Booth, you're incorrect about Arizona. There are some beautiful places in the surrounding regions, and that is actually where I would like us to spend my five days."

An unexpected goose crossed their path honking loudly and both partners backed away hastily, giving it plenty of room. When they were far enough away to avoid being attacked, Booth looked over at Brennan and grinned. She smiled in return at the event seared on their mutual memories.

"Did that really happen?" she quoted him, nudging him in the ribs.

"Definitely," Booth said with a shudder. "I think I still have feathers in my hair from that day! And those shoes will never be the same."

"You abandoned me to save your own life, Booth." Brennan snickered. "Don't the Rangers have a code about never leaving a man behind?"

"Yeah, well, you weren't exactly laying your own life on the line for me," he retorted. "As I recall, you thought it was damn funny to see your partner almost chased up a tree, until the geese decided you looked equally tasty."

"They weren't planning on eating us," she insisted. "They're not carnivorous, Booth. They have no teeth. We were probably near their nest and they were simply protecting their offspring."

"Yeah. If they have no teeth, then why do I have a scar on my calf from where one took a bite out of me?"

"I've noticed you have a number of scars," she said, changing the entire tone of their casual evening. She pulled him up short in front of the lone park bench and indicated she wanted to sit. He settled down and slung an arm over her shoulders. "Will you tell me where some of those scars came from one day, Booth?"

"I can't remember the reasons for every one of them," he answered honestly. "There are too many."

"Similar to my own personal history. But if I ask you about one and you remember, you'll answer me?"

"I can do that," he agreed. "So how do you want to work the vacation thing out, Bones? My vacation is nowhere close to Arizona, and I really want to go first. But it doesn't make sense for us to fly back and forth from the state I'm imagining and then back to the Southwest again."

Brennan got a look on her face that told him she was filtering his ideas through her genius brain, in order to maximize efficiency of their time and energies.

"All right. What about this: We go down to Arizona, interrogate our suspect, and spend my five days there. However, we will hold back on interc—on sex until we get to your five days. That's really your intention with wanting to go first, isn't it, Booth? You want control over the sex."

"Aw, Bones. When you put it that way, you make me sound like some kind of S&M freak," he complained. "I just have had a certain idea for a long time—probably much longer than you—about how things go the night we make love for the first time."

"Tell me about it." She reclined her head in his lap and lifted her feet onto the park bench, staring up at him.

"It's supposed to be a surprise, Bones," he reminded her, running his fingers down her arm lightly. "I just—I just want it to go slow the first time, okay? I know we're ready to rip the clothes off each other right now, but the first time shouldn't be that way."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "Ripping clothes is fun, Bones. It's hot. We'll do that one day very soon. But it's not sweet. It's not tender. The first time, I want to show you what I meant about what it's like when two people in a committed relationship finally come together physically. They create something entirely new between them. That's why it's called love _making_, Bones. It's not just referring to babies."

"It still sounds controlling. I will not be submissive, Booth, even if I occasionally enjoy being dominated sexually."

"I'mnot asking you to be submissive! Geez, Bones. Just—that first night—maybe I do want to be a little more in the lead. I have more experience in the sweet and slow department than you do, Wonder Woman. And it's not 'dominating!' Give a guy a break every now and then, would ya?" Booth thought it over. "This is gonna sound a lot like psychology, but, maybe this is something I do need to control, after six years of not having any control over anything. You've held the reins all that time, Bones. It's my turn."

"I can agree to that," she said surprisingly. "But after that, Booth, you have to stop bringing up my mistakes. I'm trying to move on from them, and it hurts me to hear about them repeatedly."

"I'm sorry." Booth leaned down and kissed her lightly. "I really didn't mean it that way."

"I know." She caught his head in her hands and ran her fingers through his hair slowly. "Week 6 is a new beginning for both of us. I can accept that you should … hold the reins at the outset, so long as we are equally in control after that."

"Actually," he said with a grin, "I'm all for you taking over in bed whenever you feel like it after that night, Bones. See, I'm not a control freak. And how's that for prudish, by the way?"

Her kiss was nowhere near as gentle as his.

"So, we're agreed?" she asked when she finally let him upright again. "The first five days are mine, but we don't have intercourse. The next five days are yours, and we don't get out of bed the entire time."

Booth's laughter rolled across the otherwise quiet park, startling wildlife into a momentary honking and chirping frenzy. "So you're actually suggesting we wait an extra five days, in addition to the days we've waited already? You must not want me as much as I think you do, Bones."

"I want you, Booth," she said dangerously, butting her head into his lap hard enough that he flinched. "I simply cannot think of another way to coordinate our break the way you intend it. Not unless we go to Arizona, fly to wherever it is you want your five days to be, then fly back to Arizona again for me. It would be a lot of wasted hours that I would much rather spend ripping your clothing. You'll need a new wardrobe after our break."

His grin lit up the night. "I could say the same for you, Dr. Brennan."

"In that case, help me choose my lingerie for our vacation."

He'd _really _never figured her for the type to want help with her … girly shopping.

"I want to be surprised," he complained, trying to think of some way out of this dead end he'd somehow walked into. "It's no fun if I know what's coming next."

"You'll still be surprised. You won't know which of the outfits you helped me choose will be my selection for each day. Come on, Booth," she challenged, eyes glinting up at him. "Give me empirical evidence that you're not a prude. Help me select at least a few of the outfits that I wear over our break. Or I could always ask Angela for input …"

"Hell, no!" Booth burst out in horror. "No way does Angela need to know _anything _about what happens in our bedroom, Bones."

"Is that a yes?" she asked seductively. "I _am _postponing my own pleasure for five days in order to allow you your own fantasy of sexual control, Booth."

It occurred to Booth that she was somehow getting off on the idea of having him help her pick her sexy, frilly little outfits. Maybe this was one way she got her kicks. Chalk it up to Brennan being one weird, albeit smokin' hot, lady.

"Fine," he conceded, raising his hands in defeat. "You want me to help you pick outfits—as long as they're in a catalogue and I don't have to watch you try them on or hide in some store praying one of my buddies doesn't walk in and see me in the ladies' department, fine. I can do that for you, Bones."

Her smile was smug with victory. "Let's go home and select my outfits."

"_Tonight?"_ Booth yelped. He needed more than two minutes notice to get his brain around the notion that he was going to be ogling lingerie models while superimposing his girlfriend's own heady curves onto their images.

"It's another phrase Angela taught me," Brennan smiled, standing up. "Time's a-wastin'."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Somehow, hell and heaven had chosen to collide directly in Seeley Booth's lap as Brennan took up her position from the park bench on the couch with him. With her head on his thighs, she lifted the first glossy catalogue for him to see.

Booth flinched at the overabundance of tanned, voluptuous breasts and endless legs dancing in front of his gaze.

"None of these women actually look like this," Brennan pointed out. "I've met some of the models while on publicity tours for my book. They're actually relatively ordinary looking without all the makeup and airbrushing."

_Yeah. Like that helped one bit._ Booth swallowed. Should he say something about not wanting her to look like that? Because he definitely didn't ….

"Stop overthinking things," she commanded, turning his own words on him. "This is simply clothes shopping, Booth. I don't compare myself to these women. Why should I? I'm beautiful and much more intelligent than the majority of them."

"You're more beautiful and more intelligent than the majority of _anybody_," Booth said, meaning it, but aware that it sounded hopelessly apologetic anyway.

She deflected his comment by turning the page to a selection of bras labeled _Pout_.

_Pout?_

"Do you like this one?" Brennan inquired, pointing to a seafoam green bra with a tiny black bow. The fabric was so skimpy that Booth wondered what the hell the point of wearing it was anyway. "Would you like to see me in this, Booth?"

_Guh …_

His brain had no trouble interposing Brennan's pale curves and dark red hair into the picture.

"I realize you like red," she frowned. "I just thought that a little variety—"

"I like it," Booth choked out, running a finger under his collar. He had either been really, really bad in a past lifetime, or really, really good. "That would definitely look really good on your skin."

"You're flushed," she pointed out blithely, flipping the page. "This activity is really bothering you, isn't it, Booth."

"Jesus, Bones, you gotta cut me some slack here!" he exclaimed. "I'm not used to staring at … pictures with my girlfriend in the same room as me!"

"By that remark I can deduce that you do not enjoy watching pornography with your girlfriends."

"BONES!" Booth hollered. "Holy hell, woman. What are you trying to do to me? And that is _never _happening, by the way."

"My intention is genuinely not to emasculate you, Booth. I thought this would provide some sort of vicarious pleasure, to see you through the next few days. You can fantasize about me in some of our selections prior to our having sex."

He leaned his head back against the couch and groaned. She thought she was offering him a present. Only Temperance Brennan would be so clueless.

"What about this?" Brennan pointed to a sky-blue confection that jacked the model's preternaturally round breasts almost up to her chin.

"No." Booth said firmly. "The color's nice, but … those …" he gestured awkwardly. "That looks painful, Bones."

She read the fine print. "It's a push-up."

"Yeah. You don't need, uh, pushing up, Bones." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not at all."

Brennan flipped through the pages toward the back. "I like this set." She held it up for his opinion.

Booth's mind saw black. And pink. And ribbons. Tiny, pink and white ribbons. He couldn't even bring himself to contemplate the G-string that looked like it would fall off if he breathed anywhere near it.

"Nice," he croaked. "Very nice."

Brennan scribbled something on a piece of paper. "So you like the turquoise and this set. I saw another one in here that I liked the other day …" again, she turned the pages rapidly, giving Booth tantalizing glimpses of just-barely covered skin. "Here." She stopped and flicked her finger against the page.

_Purple. The damn thing was translucent, sheer purple, hiding absolutely nothing. _

"No," he said flatly. "The color's fine. The transparent look is not. Leave something to the imagination."

She tossed that catalogue aside and picked up another one. Booth didn't get a look at the cover, or he might have been better prepared for what was on the inside. Brennan turned to a folded over page. Before Booth could process the idea that she'd been planning this whole evening with him, down to the outfits she'd surveyed already, she held up an eyeful of white lace.

"That isn't a bra."

"It's a halter teddy," she explained, giving a name to the combination of bra and panties, as linked by a long, slender strip of lace fabric.

"It looks like a swimsuit that Caesar tore a piece out of. No way."

"Joseph." Brennan scrutinized the page. "Really? You don't find this appealing? Interesting."

"What do you mean, interesting?" Booth didn't like the sound of that one bit. "Bones, you're not using this as some kind of personality inventory, are you? Like, I don't like clothes that look like a cat used them as a plaything, so that makes me some kind of wimp?"

"That's psychology," she said easily. "I told you, Booth. This is clothes shopping. Nothing more. Do you like this piece?"

His retinas were now officially seared into the back of his eyes. Instead of a bra, this was some kind of barely-thigh-skimming ivory confection, lacy and light, cradling the woman's bountiful assets but not putting them on display like overripe cantaloupes. Imagining Brennan in something like that …

"Yes. Yes. I like it."

"Ah. You prefer the babydoll image. It shouldn't surprise me, given your penchant for the endearment and your over-emphasis on 'sweet'."

"You _are _using this to rate me!" If she hadn't been all over his lap, Booth might have bolted for the door in outrage.

"I am not," she retorted. "I'm making notes of your sartorial preferences. This exercise has nothing to do with assessing your fragile masculinity, Booth. We can stop if it's more than you can take."

"Fragile?" Booth fumed. "Excuse me, there is _nothing _fragile about my masculinity. I just like feminine, okay? I like classy. If you get your kicks looking like a pole dancer, go right ahead. You'd look sexy in anything. But no way are we stopping after that insult, Bones. Turn the page."

She laughed and did as he ordered.

By the end of the hour, they'd selected at least 12 different sets, two of which Booth liked so much that Brennan promised to get them in several colors.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Was that so bad?" she asked as they lay in bed together, with Joseph banished to his room after Booth pitched a fit at the idea that any animal besides him would be rolling around in between their sheets.

"That was my definition of hell," Booth responded, his mind full of gold and red and white and black and pink and cream and turquoise and already beginning to scheme how he could figure out what she was wearing each day of their vacation, without letting her in on his curiosity.

Brennan twisted around so she faced him. "So if I asked you to repeat the activity you wouldn't?"

He had to ask. There was no way he could ever sleep again without knowing, even if her answer added one more scar to his skin. "Have you asked other boyfriends to help you pick your bras and panties, Bones?"

With a saucy laugh, she climbed on top of him. "No, Booth. Only you."

Relief poured over him. He slid his hands into the hair falling softly into her face and smoothed it back. "Then I might consider it again, maybe ten years from now."

_Or if you marry me. I could seriously go for helping you choose your honeymoon lingerie._

"I love you, Booth."

The way she said it, so quietly and serenely, made it so much more powerful than if she'd tarted it up with flowers, underwire and fancy lace.

"I love you too, Bones." Booth propped himself up on a pillow and she sprawled forward, her thighs resting on his legs, her chest pressed to his, her cheek on his right pectoral. It looked really uncomfortable, but Brennan seemed to like the new sleeping arrangement, so he didn't argue with it. If she was sore in the morning, he could always give her a massage and help her work out the kinks. "Good night, golden lady."

Brennan lifted her head very slightly and smiled at him. "I know that one from tonight's event. Stairway to Heaven."

With heaven draped all over him in a soft cotton T-shirt that was better than anything he'd seen that evening, Booth wrapped his arms around her loosely, to make sure this angel he'd somehow managed to catch couldn't easily fly away. He closed his eyes and fell sound asleep within minutes, but not before ruefully reflecting that a certain worn out celestial being snored surprising loud.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He woke up at 5:30 and found that she'd vanished off to work already. His disappointment was mitigated by the note and musical valentine she left beside the already-primed coffee machine.

_I needed to prepare for my lecture today, so I couldn't stay until you woke up. _

_Google __**Can't Take My Eyes Off You **__by Lady Antebellum. Once again, I discovered in my research that most of the songs I find appropriate for our dates are overwrought both lyrically and melodically. However, like the last one, this song, nevertheless, also … 'fits' our relationship._

_Have a good day. If you get home earlier than anticipated, call me. I have an idea for a short date. (No lingerie or geese invited.) ~Bones_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Bren."

Brennan raised her eyebrows at Angela over her latte. "What?"

"You're glowing."

"I tried that face cream you recommended. I'm glad to know the results are so visible."

Angela shook her head and waved at the waiter for a refill on her coffee. "No. You are _glowing_, Brennan. Like somebody stuck a lightbulb in your chest and turned up the wattage."

"That is an extremely convoluted metaphor."

"Whatever." Angela sighed happily and stirred the spoon in her empty cup absently. "You look really, really happy, Brennan."

Brennan sipped thoughtfully at her drink. "I'm content."

"No," Angela said firmly, leaning in to take her coffee away so Brennan was forced to look her straight in the face. "Not content. What you're feeling is _happy_. Ecstatic. Like, I'm-gonna-jump-my-hot-FBI-guy's-bones-in-a-minute kind of happy."

"You already know Booth and I are planning on having intercourse shortly, Ange, so that statement is redundant."

The artist contained her impatience with difficulty. Brennan was notorious for playing hide and seek with her feelings, but this time she wasn't going to get away without spilling the beans.

"Was Booth crazy excited when you showed him those tickets to see Zeppelin?"

A different kind of look filled her best friend's blue eyes. A look Angela read as … _content,_ dammit. Since when did Brennan tag her feelings better than Angela did?

"Yes. He reacted extremely …. loudly," Brennan conceded. "I was driving and am surprised we weren't pulled over for causing a public disturbance. He was very happy."

Angela smiled in satisfaction at the image filling her mind. Excited Booth was just so cute. And hot.

"So was the concert amazing?"

"I didn't understand the majority of the lyrics, and the music was painfully amplified, but, yes. I enjoyed the experience. I would even repeat it. With Booth only."

"Oh, sweetie!" Angela squealed and grabbed Brennan's hands. "What you just said is perfect. You have to tell him."

"I already did," Brennan replied calmly, triggering another cry of delight from her friend.

"So you told him you loved him again? Say yes, Bren," Angela implored.

"He consented to help me select lingerie for Week 6. Clearly, he was very uncomfortable with—" she paused and frowned at Angela, who was going into convulsions. "What's wrong, Ange? Are you okay?"

"_You asked Booth to look at lingerie with you?" _Angela covered her eyes and laughed hysterically, until she had to wipe away tears of mirth. The thought of the uptight G-Man ogling sexy catalogue underwear with Brennan at his side was one to be enshrined in the 'perfectly clueless Brennan moment' hall of fame. In the back of her mind, the artist pondered asking Hodgins to do the same and dismissed it out of hand. Jack would get a completely wrong thrill from the activity, unlike Booth.

"Bren, you can't do that!" she gasped out finally. "The poor guy must have turned sixteen different shades of red!"

"Initially, he was unhappy," Brennan admitted. "However, he eventually became somewhat aggressive in directing my choices."

Angela fanned herself. "Aggressive Booth is so hot. You're good for him, Bren."

"I did tell him I loved him," Brennan said quietly. "I don't know why, exactly. There was no reason, other than the pleasant evening we spent together, which I planned."

"That's the best time to say it, Bren," Angela replied, thinking that finally, finally, _finally _the genius scientist was beginning to _get _it. "When there's no reason at all and it just falls out of your lips naturally. That's when you know it's real."

Brennan returned to her latte with a small smile on her face, not fooling Angela for a minute.

"I wish I could be with you for Week 6," Angela sighed wistfully. "You have to take notes and tell me _everything."_

"Angela." The anthropologist's voice was suddenly serious. "You're my best friend and I appreciate all you've done to assist me in arriving at this place. I will share a great deal of our trip with you, including photographs. However, I can't tell you _everything _about my vacation. Booth would be very unhappy about it. And some things should remain between us only. Isn't that what you call a couple's thing?"

Angela sat back, floored. So much for baby steps. Whether or not she even knew it, Temperance Brennan had just sauntered into the real world with a casual wave and a blissful 'see ya' to her fearful days.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A warning, per reader requests: **

**Ch. 59 is anything but fluffy and contains very, **_**very **_**dark Booth. The situation is resolved in the same chapter, don't worry, but it'll be a big change of pace. Please read my A/N before reading 59 next week, as it will contain important info about the content. **

**And a head's up:**

**63 is getting closer …**


	59. Skeletons

**A/N: As I warned you in Ch. 58, this chapter (starting around the middle) is ****extremely ****"Booth dark." Some of you have mentioned that dark Booth is sexy. While I definitely agree, I assure you, there is ****nothing**** sexy about this particular version of his darkness, so fair warning if that's what you're expecting: It ain't pretty. **

**If you think Booth is totally OOC in one particular section—you'll know what I mean—I ask you to read to the end of the chapter before judging. There IS a method to the madness. Please trust that I love Booth as much as you all do and will not do his character a disservice—****even if it's not all completely resolved in this chapter.**** He has a dark past, he has skeletons—skeletons hinted at in that scene in Brennan's office a few chapter back—and they're out in full force in this chapter. **

**Whether or not you agree with my portrayal of his character in this chapter, I also request that you phrase any disapproval in kind words. I'm exhausted by a very, very difficult start to the school year and I'm too tired to deal with angry missives, sorry. Constructive criticism on the other hand, is always appreciated.**

**Thanks a million to Eternal Destiny for always being a source of good humor, great conversation and level-headedness, as well as a perpetual font of excellent writing. The chapter she's writing right now—16—is my favorite for **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology **_**so far**_**. **_**I highly recommend you sign up to get alerts for when the fic is next updated. It is well, ****well ****worth it.**

**Last but not least, I urge you to read Amilyn's newest Bones fic, **_**Distorted Vision**_**. It's beautifully written and is a gorgeous portrayal of how, no matter what life throws at them, Booth and Brennan weather the storms by drawing closer together. I highly recommend reading (and reviewing) her wonderful story.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Writer's block rarely affected Brennan. The recent developments in her personal life had, if anything, caused something of the opposite effect. In the moments she wasn't with Booth or working—not many, admittedly—she wrote. Words poured onto the page and, for a change, she was mostly satisfied with them as they emerged, rather than feeling the immediate urge to edit them until they gleamed.

The lecture and lab work kept her away from the computer until 7:00 PM. When she finally did get to it, she brewed herself a strong pot of Kopi Luwak Coffee before sitting down. As she waited for the coffee to perk, she smiled at the memory of innocently giving Booth a cup several days back. He was a traditionalist with his coffee, as with all other things, but, while initially suspicious of the 'foreign stuff' instead of his beloved Folger's, he'd given her brew rave reviews.

Then she'd casually shared what she thought was an interesting fact about the coffee bean's unusual origins, collected from the droppings of Indonesian _Paradoxurus_, a small forest-dwelling creature that fed on coffee berries. Brennan didn't get to the part about how the beans were still cleaned, roasted and ground the usual way, or the theory that fermentation occurring in the _Paradoxurus'_ digestive process caused the intensely caramel-like, heavy flavor of the drink, before Booth spit his mouthful all over the kitchen counter and ran to brush his teeth in typically exaggerated fashion. And wouldn't kiss her until she did the same. Twice.

Okay, Brennan conceded only to herself as she poured a cup of the extremely expensive, exotic blend that had been a gift to her from Zack at Christmas, maybe her intentions hadn't been _quite _so innocent.

Smirking, she headed into Joseph Caesar's temporary isolation chamber—the book said he would feel confident enough to be released into a larger part of the apartment within a couple of days—and played with him for a while before settling in for a night of writing. She was glad that she still insisted on refusing to let Booth read her work before its publication. He would not have approved of their real life filtering onto the pages of her story anywhere outside the bedroom. In this case, Kathy Reichs was helpfully enlightening Andy Lister about where his new favorite brand of morning caffeine had originated …

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He missed her. He missed her the whole damn day, from dawn when he woke up and she wasn't beside him, till dusk, when the colors of the sunset outside his window were especially pretty, and she wasn't around to share them with him or to ruin his enjoyment of the natural spectacle by noting that the unusually bright colors were caused by pollution. For Week 6, he was planning on taking them somewhere far enough away from society that that particularly annoying comment would have _no _bearing.

After getting home at 10:00 and changing—all the while refusing to acknowledge that he actually kind of missed the furry orange terror that had stalked his feet for the last week—he stalled for a good hour before finally calling. He wanted to give her space, but playing games wasn't his thing. And he wanted to see her, dammit.

"_Brennan."_

He smiled, just hearing her voice. "Hey, baby."

"_You must enjoy sadomasochism more than you pretend, Booth, or you wouldn't continue to use that endearment when you know it will require a pound of skin."_

She sounded so adorably huffy, Booth grinned imaging the irritated look on her face.

"Flesh, Bones. A pound of flesh. So, did you miss me?"

"_I was occupied all day. And even though we're in a relationship, Booth, I don't intend to spend our time apart pining."_

He shrugged and flipped his lucky poker chip. "Okay, Bones. I was gonna ask if you wanted to maybe, you know, spend a little time together this evening. Just hang out and trade stories about our day, kinda like an ordinary couple, y'know? But since you didn't miss me at all, hey, it's all good. Go back to whatever you were doing when I interrupted. I'll catch up with you tomorrow, maybe? Or Sunday. Monday, if you're too busy. Not that you'll miss me. Night." Booth flipped the phone shut with a smirk and waited for her to call back.

Except she didn't. After waiting 15 minutes for the annoyed call he'd expected immediately, he started to get worried. When she didn't answer any of his calls, his voicemails became increasingly desperate.

_Shit_. It was so damn hard to read the woman sometimes! He thought they'd been playing, and now it looked like she was angry at him. Again.

He was getting ready to head over to her place and set things right, when his phone rang, _finally_.

Booth grabbed at the cell and groaned with relief as he saw the name on the Caller ID.

"Jesus, Bones! I was just—"

Rather than angry, her voice was completely calm. "Come downstairs, Booth. Betsy and I are waiting."

"Wait, what?" Booth stared at the receiver as the line went dead. "Who the hell is Betsy?"

He grabbed his coat and keys and jogged toward the stairs, forgoing the elevator. If his buddies could have seen how eager he was to figure out Brennan's latest surprise, he never would have heard the end of it. But they weren't around, so Booth took the steps two at a time and shoved his way out the fire exit and into the parking lot without even attempting to look cool about it.

He didn't see Brennan at first. But he_ definitely _saw 'Betsy.'

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan smiled as Booth spluttered his way across the parking lot toward her. She leaned against the car door and jingled the Corvette keys, holding them out to him seductively. His eyes flicked from the car, which she'd had washed and waxed until it gleamed, to the keys, and back again.

"_You drove her off the lot without telling me? Through DC traffic?" _He trailed his fingers across the car door lovingly, not even noticing Brennan's deliberately provocative outfit of a-size-too-small jeans and scoop-necked red halter. "Bones, do you even know how to drive a stick? Please, please tell me you didn't already kill the transmission. Hello, beautiful," he crooned absurdly to the vehicle.

Brennan interposed her body between his eyes and the car. "We could trade stories about our day like an ordinary couple, Booth." She grabbed his head and forced him to look at her. "Or … we could go for a drive. Which would you prefer, _baby?_"

"I told you, Bones," he insisted, eyes casting longing little glances in the direction of Betsy, "She isn't meant to be driven."

"Then I guess we'll just leave her here," Brennan said dryly. "In the parking lot. Permanently."

Booth snatched the keys from her hands. "Fine. But _I'm _driving, Bones." He attempted to disengage himself from her, but she held onto his head.

"You're not even going to kiss me hello?"

Finally_, _Booth's attention came to rest fully on her. He looked her up and down, skimming his eyes over the tightly-fitted clothing. A smile curved the corner of his lips, just enough to let Brennan know she had him where she wanted.

"Hello," he whispered, sliding his large hands down to rest casually on her backside. "Baby."

Brennan yanked his head down to hers and kissed him aggressively. Booth groaned and fused his lips to her heatedly. Their tongues connected for the first time that day—she'd missed their usual morning kiss, what with leaving early—gliding against each other in slick, wet need. Brennan pressed herself into him with a frustrated sigh, needing that full-bodied physical contact, where his hard body connected with her soft curves –

"Bones!" Booth broke away hastily as Brennan wriggled even closer still, forcing him to use the car door behind him for leverage. "Not here. We'll scratch the finish."

She rolled her eyes and stepped back, not bothering to adjust her rumpled clothing. "Booth, your attachment to this vehicle could be construed as disturbing."

He opened the passenger door for her with a sheepish grin. "I'll make it up to you. C'mon, Bones." His suddenly huge grin sent metaphorical butterflies dancing in her stomach. "Let's _ride."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Why Betsy?" Booth asked, driving the car at a snail's pace in spite of Brennan's urging to "open it up." Like she even had a clue what she was saying! No guy in his right mind would open up the throttle on a piece of machinery this fine. Not without priming it thoroughly and not at all, if Booth had anything to say about it.

"Angela told me there's a common tradition among males involving naming their cars."

"Bones!" He took his eyes off the road for one microsecond, just to glare at his partner in disbelief, then refocused on the empty road ahead. "You don't name a car like this Betsy."

"Why not?"

"_Because_, Bones," Booth sighed, "Because a car like this …" he patted the leather headrest lovingly, "A car like this is a lady. She's elegant."

Brennan snorted. "A car is a car, Booth. Your insistence on endowing her with a feminine gender doesn't change the facts."

"Betsy sounds like some cute country girl with blonde hair and apple cheeks." Booth nudged the car forward just a little faster, listening for signs of any protest from the engine. "This car isn't cute or blonde."

"I would agree with that assessment, at least. There is nothing cute or blonde about a red car."

"Ah, Bones. You just don't get it." He accelerated another tiny bit. "This car isn't a Betsy, anymore than you would be. She's dark, y'know? Exotic." Feeling criminal, he nudged the speed up to 40 miles per hour.

He didn't look over, but was sure his partner would be rolling her eyes or squinting when she replied. "A name has no correlation to personality, Booth. If it did, I would be a considerably different individual. I am not a temperate person."

"Your given name is Joy," Booth corrected. "And it suits you just fine, Bones. You put joy into everything you do, even if it's this weird, squinty joy that only the people closest to you get."

"I've never thought of myself that way. Thank you, Booth." She sounded surprised.

He reached over and squeezed her knee. "You're welcome. So, anyway, Bones. This car is more like a Marlene, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Brennan retorted. "How is Marlene any better than Betsy?"

"Okay, maybe not Marlene," he agreed, pushing forward to 45. "How about Lana? Or Marilyn? No, wait, Bones, I got it! Veronica. This car is a total Veronica."

"Why Veronica?"

"Veronica Lodge, Bones." Booth glanced at her. "Archie Comics? No? Geez. With all those doctorates, you'd think somebody would've given you a proper education. Anyway, Bones, this car is all Veronica."

"Betsy Veronica. We purchased the car together—I should have a say in her name, at least."

"Then it's Veronica Betsy." Booth grimaced. "And we're calling her by her first name." The open road crooned to him and he gave in. "Hold on, Bones. I'm about to commit a cardinal classic car sin."

She shouted in delight as he floored the accelerator and, he had to admit, it was worth the guilt to feel the wind tearing across his face and see Brennan's auburn hair streaming backwards, its brightness only matching her grin.

"Faster, Booth!"

There was no way to do anything but obey that excited order.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Not surprisingly, Brennan had had another goal in mind when she brought Veronica over to his place that evening. She directed him towards a secluded area on the outskirts of the city, high up on a hill. Booth decided he really didn't need details on how she'd found the place.

The full moon overhead was no match for the seductive light in Brennan's eyes as she opened the passenger's door and walked over to Booth's side of the car. He'd warned her not to lean over the center console, for fear of warping it.

She opened his door and pressed her palms on his chest to brace herself as she settled herself on top of him. Hastily, Booth wound the seat backwards as fast as the antique mechanism would wind. Brennan had no way of knowing she was fulfilling a fantasy that dated back to his junior high days. Hot redhead sprawled all over him, in a vintage car most collectors would enshrine in a temperature-controlled garage.

There was nothing temperature-controlled about the heat she generated in him, or the windy September night rustling around them, further tousling Brennan's already mussed hair.

"You're so beautiful." Booth took her face in his hands, enjoying her impish smile almost as much as the curves molded seamless against him. She delighted in teasing him and he loved that they'd come to a point at long, long last, where she could do so freely.

She wiggled around, ostensibly to get more comfortable, drawing a desperate groan from Booth. Pinning her to his chest firmly, he kissed her on her laughing, luscious lips, tasting the sweetness of … _waitaminute._

"You had coffee before you came to pick me up."

Brennan raised her eyebrows. "So?"

"What kind of coffee, Bones? Was it made from monkey shit?"

"Luwaks are civets. Not monkeys. They're more similar to rodents, genetically."

"Fine, rat shit. Even better. Were you drinking coffee from beans found in rat shit this evening?"

"If I said yes, would you stop kissing me?" Brennan asked, squeezing his biceps.

"Aw, Bones," he complained, eyes magnetically drawn to the full lower lip that hovered within reach. "You did. Here I was thinking you tasted all sweet and sexy and I find out you taste like rat droppings! That doesn't do much for a guy."

Brennan reached between their bodies and slid her hand downward. "You still seem aroused to me."

How could he _not _be, with her hands all over him through the thin denim?

"So, you're not going to kiss me again?" she pouted.

In all the time he'd known her, he'd never seen her pout. She fussed and fumed and got adorably grumpy and raging mad and made all kinds of strange faces. But pouting was so far from the realm of Brennan that Booth couldn't help himself.

He kissed those pouty lips. Kissed them again and again, increasingly hard as she laughed at him, until she decided to stop playing and took the lead from him, diving in to taste the Folger's _he'd _indulged in.

"Your given name means blessed," she said randomly, in the middle of their heated exchange. "I don't know if I think that suits you or not, Booth, like you said Joy suits me."

"It suits me," he promised, shifting their positions slightly so he could slide his hands under her shirt. Through the fabric, she covered his hands with hers and showed him what she liked, blowing more than one fuse in his fevered brain.

The supple leather of the seats added an extra dimension of awesome to the whole evening. His hands were full of Brennan and his mouth was full of Brennan and every sense was full of Brennan. Seeley Booth knew he'd definitely never _ever _felt so damned blessed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

In spite of his newly liberated ideas about how Veronica Betsy should be driven, Booth still made them drive her all the way back to the super-secure storage facility the anthropologist had located after considerable research.

By the time they got back to Brennan's place, it was close to 3:00 in the morning but, for a change, that didn't matter too much since it was Friday. Booth pulled his car into the parking spot that he now claimed as his and led the way toward the elevator.

"Parker's got a baseball game tomorrow at 2:00," he told her as they waited for the floors to slide by. "Are you free?"

"So long as I can spend the majority of the morning writing, I am."

The door opened on her floor and they stepped out.

"Bones, I hope I'm not taking too much time away from your writing," Booth said, sounding worried. "If I am, you'll tell me, right?"

"If I need space or extra time to write, yes, Booth, I will let you know," Brennan reassured him as they arrived at her door. "I appreciate your awareness of the importance of other things in my life, besides making out in cars." She unlocked the door and let them inside. "Which reminds me—given that you've repeatedly told me that vintage cars are considered female, I surmised recently that the sexual connotation might be due to the notion of a third party involved in the sex act."

"Say what?" Booth whirled from where he was shrugging off his coat. "Bones, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Many men have fantasies about sleeping with several partners simultaneously. Attributing female traits to a car where sexual acts often occur would seem to be an indication of a desire for voyeurism, at the very least."

"Ah, hell no, Bones!" he fumed, waving his hands. "C'mon! Veronica's a car!"

"You're the one who keeps telling me she's not _just _a car," Brennan pointed out, taking off her boots. "Tonight, you and I were the only humans involved in the physical activity, but Veronica Betsy was a latent participant. She could be viewed as a third party."

"Just because a car is a girl doesn't mean men are fantasizing about having sex with her," her partner complained. "Or seeing her as 'a third party.' Geez, Bones. I thought you hated psychology. And, for the record, I don't fantasize about having more than one person in bed a time with me. Okay?"

Brennan headed for the kitchen to get a bottle of water. "You referred to Veronica Betsy as beautiful. If you enjoy the notion that she was part of tonight's foreplay, I don't have a problem with that, Booth."

Unexpectedly, Booth grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans and spun her around. "You're the only woman I want to be with, Temperance Brennan." He backed her into the fridge and pinned her hands at her side. "There will _never _be a third party in this relationship. Not in my brain. Not in our bed. Got it?"

His mouth closed over hers, so she couldn't respond even if she had wanted to continue the teasing. Brennan hid a satisfied smile as his hands roamed all over her. Agitating him was so easy. And so productive.

His dark head worked over her shirt and she drew almost as much pleasure from watching him as from his activities. Her desire to speed the arrival of Week 6 only grew with every similar session under Booth's talented mouth and hands. Her most recent fantasies were all about removing that last barrier of clothing and watching him—feeling him, too, definitely, but _watching _him—put his mouth on the places where right now only his hands went.

An unexpected noise caused her to peel her eyes away from her partner.

"Booth."

His response was a hungry growl and a renewed assault on her neck.

"Booth," Brennan insisted, gasping as his mouth clamped down at the base of her throat. "Booth. Booth!" Insistently—and regretfully—she pulled his head up.

He looked at her impatiently. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's knocking."

Booth frowned and listened, hearing the same sound she'd picked up on. "Stay here in the kitchen," he ordered, heading for the door. "I mean it, Bones. Nobody good would be showing up on your doorstep at three in the morning."

She scoffed and followed him. "You show up on my doorstep at 3:00 frequently. I can protect myself, Booth."

He frowned at her, indicating they'd discuss this in a minute, and cracked the door a fraction of an inch. The expletive he let fly shocked Brennan almost as much as the violence with which he sent the door slamming back into the wall, without even bothering to remove the chain.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_What the fuck are you doing here?"_

Booth grabbed the intruder by his cheap, thrift-store suit lapels and yanked him forward, shoved him back, yanked him forward again.

"How the hell did you find her place?"He lifted the smaller man off his feet and knocked him backwards again. _"Answer me, goddammit!"_

"Booth." Brennan prided herself in maintaining her calm in a crisis. She managed to keep her voice steady, even at the sight unfolding before her eyes.

"Shut up, Temperance. This has nothing to do with you." Booth planted a fist in the guy's voicebox.

"He can't answer you if you're cutting off his airway."

"Son. Let me explain." The older Booth's voice croaked out hoarsely, but it was hard to tell what was from age and what was from oxygen deprivation.

"Don't call me that. I'm not your son. Did you contact Jared?" Booth swung his father around like a ragdoll, throwing him into a wall. He lunged forward so he was nose to nose with the man, without loosening his grip on his lapels. "Huh? Did you try and get in touch with Jared? _How did you find this apartment?_"

Brennan picked up the _People _magazine Joseph Booth had dropped. The one with her on the front cover. "I think I know how he found me."

Her partner didn't make any kind of acknowledgment that he'd heard her. "_Did you talk to Jared?"_

"No." His father gasped.

Booth apparently didn't like that answer and drove his knee into the older man's abdomen. Joseph grunted and doubled forward.

Brennan's neighbors began to peer cautiously out of their doors.

"FBI," she called curtly, hoping they'd get the message and not dial 911. Everybody on her floor was familiar with her line of work. To her relief, both heads retreated back inside, followed by the doors shutting and the dual clicks of the deadbolts sliding home.

"_Why are you here?"_

Brennan dragged her eyes back to where Booth continued to shake his father like a ragdoll. Stifling her horror, she stepped forward and touched her partner's shoulder.

"Booth, I don't think—"

"Go back into the apartment and wait, Temperance." His tone was flat with rage as he pinned Joseph Booth Sr. to the wall by his neck.

"You're better than this, Booth," she insisted. "This is wrong."

"Wrong?" Booth's voice rose another decibel, but he didn't take his eyes—or fists—off the increasingly limp body of his father. "You think this is wrong? I'll tell you what's _wrong_." Abruptly, he released Joseph, dropping him to the floor unceremoniously, and stepped back. "Wrong is seeing your little brother beaten with a fire poker. Wrong is watching your mother reapply her makeup twice a day, to cover her bruises. Wrong is losing your front teeth after being slammed headfirst into the sink for breathing the wrong way."

The stranger's mask Brennan had caught a glimpse of in his office was back, completely erasing the familiar lines of Seeley Booth's handsome face. In their place was flat-lined fury, emphasized by his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

Still believing she could find a way to reach him in spite of the chilling revelations, Brennan tried again. "Whatever your history, there has to be a better way to resolve this."

"If I had a gun, he'd already be dead." Booth lashed out with his foot and Brennan stepped in front of the blow intended for his father, taking it squarely on her shin.

"Get the hell out the way, Temperance," he ordered, not even apologizing.

Brennan suspected he was so enmeshed in his own inner turmoil that he didn't even realize what he had done, or she knew that he would have been both instantly contrite and horrified.

"No." She ignored the pain in her leg and in her heart and moved to further block Joseph's body. "I can't let you do this, Booth."

"You're taking his side." There was no question. Only rage.

"I'm on your side, Booth. That's why I can't let you do this." Brennan stooped to check on the fallen man. As she leaned in to feel for a pulse, catching a strong whiff of alcohol in the process, she caught a peripheral glimpse of Booth's arm moving and threw up her hand to stop him from yanking her backwards. She grabbed his wrist and twisted expertly.

"_Shit!" _Booth bellowed in pain and anger as he yanked his arm away. "Temperance, what the fuck is wrong with you? He's the bad guy!"

Joseph laughed. Brennan's head jerked back to where the man lay on the floor, wheezing and chuckling.

"You shouldn't be laughing!" She looked back and forth between her seething partner and his crumpled father. "Why are you _laughing?"_

She wanted Booth to say something to help her understand. He was the person she asked these questions. But there was nothing in his eyes. No anger anymore. No pain. Just flat. Cold. Empty, as he sat back against the wall, watching. It terrified her.

Joseph was eyeing her with much more in his gray eyes. Something that disgusted her and made her skin crawl.

"You need to leave." Brennan yanked him upright by the elbow and shoved him in the direction of the stairs. "If you ever come back again, I will allow him to kill you."

He was still laughing as he stumbled down the hallway.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan turned back toward Booth, dreading what she would see. He'd gotten to his feet and was rubbing his wrist and staring after Joseph, that same coldness still in place. She didn't know what to do. Didn't know what to say. As someone wholly purpose-driven, she hated the feeling of utter helplessness.

"Booth." His name slipped from her lips without thought.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes away from his father's retreating back and looked at her. The stranger stared back and Brennan panicked. She panicked, dammit, at seeing _nothing _in a face that was always full of _everything_.

On automatic pilot, she stepped towards him, hoping her brain would take over at some point and guide her movements. Angela would have argued that it was some other part of her anatomy that caused Brennan's arms to open and wrap around Booth, in spite of her fear.

She pressed herself into him. Rested her head in _her _spot on his shoulder. Squeezed him hard enough that a weaker man would have gasped for breath.

"_Booth_."

When his arms crept around her, Brennan felt her knees sag with relief. Everything would be fine now. He would explain, and the last few horrible minutes would somehow make sense. And they would be okay. She closed her eyes and let out a shallow, tired breath.

"Hold me."

His arms tightened around her. Then tightened some more. Too tightly. Brennan pushed at his chest to tell him this wasn't okay. When he failed to listen, she raised her head to complain. To question.

His mouth came down on hers without any tender preliminaries. His kiss was brutal. The kind that Brennan might have found arousing in some other relationship, maybe when role-playing. But not with Booth. Not like this.

He held her painfully still as he kissed her, both hands clamped to the back of her head, then, abruptly, released her and went for her shirt, yanking upwards at the hem.

"No, Booth. No!" She applied pressure to his injured wrist and yanked away as he let out a hiss.

"I thought you liked it wild and crazy, Temperance." He rubbed the back of his hand across his lips casually, wiping her off of him like she was nothing.

Brennan repressed a shudder. "Not like this. Not with you. And stop calling me that!"

"This is me. Take it or leave it."

"This is NOT you! This is you … _hiding _behind something. This is you pretending to be another person, to avoid confronting what your father did."

"I hate psychology," Booth drawled sarcastically.

"Stop it!" Brennan whacked him in the chest. "Stop doing this, Booth!"

He casually, mockingly, rubbed the spot where she'd hit him, and anger boiled to the surface in Brennan. Anger so powerful it burned away the pain and the fear clogging her arteries, leaving nothing behind but fast-flowing blood and adrenaline.

"I'm leaving it."

He raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"You said take it or leave it. I'm leaving it," Brennan said firmly. "This is _not_ you, Seeley Booth. You have 48 hours to figure that out and stop posturing, or you've lost me. You've lost us. Permanently."

She shoved past him into the apartment and grabbed her keys, shoving her feet into a pair of sandals by the door. Finally, as she stomped back out of the door and slammed the door so hard the walls echoed with the sound of it, she saw a flicker of something familiar in his face.

"Bones—"

"Go to hell," she said succinctly, not ready to make nice until he'd come clean. "And feed Joseph. I'll be gone all weekend." She turned and stalked down the hallway.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was alone. Angela and Hodgins were on vacation somewhere. She wasn't close enough to Cam to share this kind of thing. Zack was in trouble again for something or other, so she couldn't see him. Dr. Wyatt remained on safari. This wasn't something she felt she could discuss with Russ. So she was alone. Again. In spite of all her efforts at opening up and being less selfish and more trusting of other human beings, life had kicked dirt in her face. Again. And she was _angry _about the utter unfairness of it.

Brennan drove the car hard. She picked it up at the place where she and Booth had just dropped it off earlier in the evening and drove it aimlessly, through the dark hours of Friday evening, into the early hours of Saturday. On a stretch of empty, wide open road, she floored it, pushing the speed dial past 100. She heard the whine of the transmission, the groan of the gears, but she kept pushing. She forced it across the highway and off onto dirt roads, where mud and grit clogged up the pristine mechanics. She drove it up steep hills until the engine screamed, and back down again, with the brakes squealing in pain. She took hairpin curves viciously, jostling the suspension with her abrupt, aggressive shifts of direction. She drove with no goal, no plan, no outline of what should happen at the end of the trip. All her energy went to staying upright and to keeping the car on the road.

Finally, late Saturday afternoon she pulled off into a state park. The car was such a mess that she'd be surprised if anyone decided to steal it, but, if they did, so be it. She left it steaming beside a porta-potty and set out on a hike up a randomly selected trail. It was well marked, but heavy overgrowth slowed her steps. Still, she pushed herself as hard as she'd pushed Veronica Betsy. By the time she reached the top of what the sign said was Lobo Peak, she was drenched in sweat and covered in scratches, as well as bug bites.

The view was stunning, leading the eye from the far below banks of a white-foamed river and tall pines to the swarthy crest of a higher peak. The grass was tall and damp from a recent rain, and dotted with wildflowers. Which made Brennan think of Booth. Which made her angrier yet.

Years ago, she'd been required to take a course in psychology for some component or other of a degree. The course had included common therapy techniques, all of which Brennan had found ludicrously unscientific. She still felt the same way, but one of them reared its head anyway and there was no one around to laugh, so she went ahead and tried it.

She sat down on the grass and wrapped her arms around herself, knees tucked to her chest. She tightened every large muscle group in her body, one by one, until she was more a human knot than a human being. And then she threw her head back and she screamed. She screamed and she screamed and she screamed. She couldn't cry—she was cried out after the last weeks—and Veronica Betsy had been the outlet for her physical rage—but she could scream. So she did, venting her fear and frustration primally until her ears rang almost as badly as they had at the Zeppelin concert.

The textbook had explained 'scream therapy' as a way of releasing the innermost tensions that people forgot they even carried. Brennan was more inclined to think of it in terms of the endorphins that were released. Whatever the reason, the screaming did carry away with it some of the fury she'd been buried under for the last day and a half. When she finally stopped, her head was finally silent for the first time in days and her muscles were loose and warm and definitely no longer rigid. She staggered back down the trail, drove the several hundred miles back home, and fell straight into bed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Sunday Evening**

"Temperance. I'm sorry. I know I'm waking you up and I have no right. I need help. I think … I'm about to start gambling."

He called her. Ashamed as he was, he would still have gone over to her place with the cat and waited until she showed up on Sunday evening, knowing she'd be back in time for work on Monday. But he couldn't move from the damn computer.

Her voice was immediately alert. "_**Stop calling me that.**__ And turn off the computer screen, Booth." _He could hear her rustling around the bedroom._ "Turn off the monitor. Right now."_

His fingers hovered over the Blackjack link, itching to flex just that little bit farther to log him onto the system where he'd already input his name and financial information.

"I can't."

"_Yes. You can, Booth. Turn it off. I'm on my way and I'll stay on the phone as I drive over to your place. Did you call your sponsor?"_

"He's on a trip for his 25th anniversary. Bones … "

"_Don't do it, Booth! Don't break. You're stronger than this."_

"Bones." Acid guilt had worn a hole in his stomach the size of a quarter over the last 37 hours. "What I did on Friday—"

"_You can apologize when I get to your place. Is the monitor off?" _

He heard the faint beep of her car as she unlocked it.

"No. I—I—Bones, I gamble because I'm a loser. You saw that on Friday. Gambling makes me feel like I'm a winner_."_

"_Stop feeling sorry for yourself and turn off the fucking computer!" _She swore at him. She rarely swore, and it caught him off guard_. "You know you're not a loser, and the temporary rush you'll get from gambling will only occasion a severe depression once you realize the mistake you've made. If that computer isn't off when I get to your apartment, you better be wearing a gun, Booth. You'll need it to defend yourself from me."_

Zero sympathy. Zero compassion. Zero pity. Just 100% balls-out Brennan, believing he was strong enough to resist the siren call. **Demanding **that he be.

"_Is it off? Talk to me, Booth. What are you doing?"_

"I'm staring at the screen."

She swore again and honked the horn at something._ "Picture me naked."_

Booth's body clenched, more at the desperation in her voice than at her actual words. She still cared. Even after what he'd done, he hadn't lost her completely.

"_I'm naked. I really am, Booth. I didn't even put on any clothes under this robe, so all I'm wearing is those girl boxers you like and a tiny string top. Turn the damn monitor off and think of me!"_

He couldn't turn it off. He swiveled his chair away, hands fisting at his side, but he couldn't turn it off.

"_You're strong, Booth. I believe you are strong enough not to click that button. I'm still angry at you. I don't understand what happened Friday night at all. You've been hiding something from me all these years and it metaphorically exploded in my face. It hurt. But you're a good man. And I still love you. Is it off, Booth?"_

He reached back with shaking hands and slowly pushed the button, watching temptation disappear behind a silver screen. "Yes."

"_I'm proud of you, Booth. Now get up and walk down to the parking lot. Get out of that apartment. I'm almost there."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She peeled into the parking lot in her SUV, brakes screeching to halt as she threw the car into park and jumped out. He was standing outside the fire exit, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. He was shirtless. Barefoot. Gaunt. How the hell could a person be gaunt after less than 37 hours? But he somehow looked thinner. He also looked afraid. And he should be.

Brennan rushed him. She didn't stop from the minute she got out of the car to the moment she collided with him. He caught her with a surprised _oomph _and reeled backwards into the red door, somehow managing to keep them both upright. For one long second, she allowed herself to sink into that surprised, hard embrace, and then she pulled away and stared into his face. He smelled strongly like alcohol. His eyes lacked the familiar warm flare that was so much a part of him. But he was her Booth again, no longer some alien who had hijacked her partner's body. She let him have it with both guns blazing.

"You're a hypocrite, Booth. Not a liar or a loser. A hypocrite. A fraud. All these years you've been complaining that I don't share enough with you. Partners don't have secrets. That's what you always tell me. And you've had this huge secret all these years. I've told you _everything_. It's time you spill the beans. And yes, I know I used that idiom properly!"

"These beans are laced with rat shit," he warned her humorlessly, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. "I've never told you because it's not exactly something that comes up in casual conversation, Bones. I mean, what was I supposed to say "Hi, Bones? How's that ID comin', by the way, didja know my dad used to like to beat me bloody?"

She wasn't buying any excuses. "You could've told me during Dr. Wyatt's therapy session in response to the** something I've never told you before **prompt. You told me about your sexual fantasies and how I hurt you so terribly that you drove to Philadelphia. I told you about being molested and stuffed into a trunk for two days. Even someone with your lack of scientific intellect should be able to see the dichotomy!"

His eyes opened and met hers squarely. "I'm not sorry about beating up my father, Bones. I'm sorry you had to see it. I'm sorry I manhandled you totally inappropriately afterwards."

She had been right. He still didn't even realize he'd kicked her. He'd been that far gone.

"But I'm _not _sorry I hit that son-of-a-bitch."

"Then tell me why you're not sorry!" she shouted, striking her fist against his shoulder. "Make me understand, Booth! What, besides the terrible things you mentioned that day, did he do to you that was so terrible you wanted him to die?"

"He _would _have died, if I'd had a gun."

Brennan slapped him. She wasn't that type of dramatic sort, but all the anguish erupted from her in one, stinging collision of her palm against his cheek. He drew back and pressed his fingers to the spot where she'd hit him, eyes widening.

"Stop saying things like that. When you underestimate yourself like that, you underestimate me, Booth. I'm with you now. What does it say about me if I'm with a man who murders people cold-bloodedly? And if you make a joke about my terrible taste in men, I will _hurt _you!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He'd never seen anyone more beautiful—ever—than outraged Temperance Brennan, laying into him like some kind of avenging Goddess. He knew how much he'd hurt her both by his betrayal of what she believed to be his rock solid character, as well as by failing to trust her fully. And yet, she was still here, howling for his blood. His truth.

"I hate that I love you," she said fiercely, eyes flashing. "I hate that now you have the power to hurt me even more than before. And I hate that I can't walk away anymore. I don't know what you've done to me, but I hate it, Seeley Booth. I _hate_ it. So you better make it up to me by being honest."

Again, she struck him, her powerful fists hammering home on his shoulders. "Be honest, Booth! Stop standing there like a statue and open your mouth and **tell me**."

"I've avoided telling you in order to protect you, Bones," he said wearily.

"That's exactly what I said on those steps, and it made you drive all the way to Pittsburgh. If I drive away this time, Booth, I'm not coming back, no matter how far you chase me. Are you going to start talking? Dammit, Booth, _talk _to me!" The last words were a scream of fury, even as her eyes reddened abruptly.

"The park." Booth caved. He had no choice, no matter how deep his dread of confronting the old memories. "If I'm going to tell you, it's going to be somewhere besides the apartment."

They jogged down the city blocks, feet pounding the pavement in a furious synchronized rhythm that only increased as the concrete bench neared. When they got to it, Booth changed his mind and indicated the ground.

Without a word, Brennan settled herself. He slid down behind her, his back supporting hers and vice versa. Her arms linked with his and Booth began.

"_**Something I've never told you before is …"**_

He'd never talked about it with anyone. Not Pops, not Jared, not even God, really. For the first time, Booth reached into his large bag of childhood memories and pulled forth all the roaches that had clawed at his subconscious, scrabbling their little legs in his nightmares, driving him insane to the point he had to join the Army to try and outrun the scratching.

He laid them at Brennan's feet, one by one, from the easy memories, like his mom sporting an unexpected black eye in the morning, to the terrible ones, like Jared being wrapped in a body cast half the summer because 11 year old Booth hadn't been strong enough to hold back his old man.

He poured forth the intense guilt at not being able to better protect his mother and brother. At occasionally cringing when his dad came home, and even hiding, rather than taking an immediate stand against the man wielding a belt buckle or broken bottle of beer.

The nightly terror, never knowing what mood he was going to come home in.

The grief at not having anybody at his sporting events, and the fear when the his father did show up, because he knew he could do no right. Even if the team won, he would lose anyway.

The confusion, at the occasional moments of happiness, when his dad would take him out to throw a ball around or shoot the breeze, and the despair when his father resumed drinking, sometimes in the middle of playing catch.

The pain. Intense pain, from head to toe, from so much hitting.

The hunger at never quite having enough to eat those early years. Eating enough to stay healthy, but never getting enough of the junk food his friends plowed their way through. The hunger at being hungry for something other than just barely surviving.

The struggle to get up in the morning and go to school anyway, to keep an eye on Jared.

The anger at not being like any other kids. Having to beg for odd jobs at 11, in order to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

The love and loathing he felt for his father. Love he couldn't erase, no matter how he tried, because of those one or two occasional good memories. The relief when he woke up one day and Pops was there, telling him things were about to change. The sadness at losing the man he still somehow, twistedly, looked up to. And the no-holds-barred, churning hatred that threatened to consume the core of good Brennan somehow still believed existed in him.

The shame at his addictions. His failings. His human weaknesses that could never quite be pruned away, no matter what care he exercised.

The collision of all the above emotions on Friday evening, when his past had knocked on the door of his present and caused the rage to boil over after decades of simmering.

Somehow his revelations led into confessions about the Army and sins he'd committed both then and since, leading to the nightly parade of faces behind his eyelids of men he'd seen take their last breaths—some by his own gun, others by a fellow sniper's bullet.

Brennan listened. She didn't interrupt or ask him to elaborate. She sat quietly on the dew-damp grass with her back pressed into his and held him upright with her presence.

When he finally couldn't come up with anything else to tell her—when his mouth was dry from all the talking and his body ached from sitting so rigidly, and that ever present fear that she would run screaming had subsided when, still, after hearing all of it, she remained, she took his hand and led him home to bed.

"You are not your father," she said, crawling under the sheets beside him. "You are not him. You are not like him. If you had had a gun, you would not have killed him. I _know _that, Booth. In my heart. In my gut. In my brain. You would not have taken his life, even if I hadn't been there. I believe in you, Booth. I trust you. Now go to sleep and let me be the protective one for a change. We have to work tomorrow morning."

In her arms, under her watchful gaze, he became aware that he was, at long, long last, forgiven for being no better than an average man. She loved him anyway. And so, he slept. And had no darkness in his dreams.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**We're past the angst now, so you can breathe again. Next chapter has both dark Booth and dark Brennan, but I'm fairly certain THIS darkness is the kind you'll like. (As in, they're being dark in their pursuit of protecting each other.)**

**For those who aren't fully sure of the timeline at this point, Ch. 63 will fall right around the fourth month of the 'six week' experiment. That said, I'm struggling with a dilemma. Ch. 62 is right around 12000 words. It would work much better if I split it into two, but that would change the order of the chapters as I've written them and would push Week 6 to Chapter 64. I promised it would happen in Ch. 63, and ****I'll stick to that****, if that's what readers tell me. I just don't want to post 62 and then have nobody read it because it's so long. So I'd appreciate feedback on whether you want one huge 62 and an on-schedule 63, or a split-in-two 62, with Week 6 then happening in Ch. 64. I could also post the two sections of the chapter on consecutive days, I guess—anyway, let me know what you think, please.**

**Hits dropped hugely the last chapter. For those of you who are still reading and reviewing, thank you. Squeezing in time to write and update is not easy when you're teaching 9 classes, so I very much appreciate the time some of you took to let me know what you thought. It means a whole lot to me. I'm very sorry I haven't responded to everybody. At this point, it's frequently a choice between writing or responding, given my limited amount of free time, but that doesn't mean I appreciate your reviews any less. It really makes my day to come home to an inbox full of feedback. So, again, ****thank you.**


	60. Protective

**A/N: Surprise! =) You guys overflowed my inbox with kind words, after I'd had the week from hell and it's the understatement of the year to say you guys made me happy. This update is my THANK YOU! =) **

**I sat down and worked on 63 and it's now 20,000 words, and it isn't even finished yet! So we now have a new posting schedule, courtesy of the feedback you guys gave me:**

**Chapter 62 is now split into two pieces of about 7000 words each. Chapter 63 came in at 20,000 words and wound up having to be split into 3 pieces, each around 6900 words. Here's how the schedule for the next weeks' postings will go:**

**60 today**

**61 this coming Thursday**

**62 next Thursday **

**63 (Week 6, flying to their surprise destination) Friday **

**64 (Week 6, their first night begins) next Thursday**

**65 (Week 6, their first night ends) Friday**

**So even though Week 6 is slightly delayed, you'll get two chapters in one week, three weeks in a row, so hopefully nobody should be too upset. =)**

**Again, my thanks to all who came through for me when I was feeling blue and who left kind feedback. And my eternal thanks to Eternal Destiny, who continues to be a source of great writing, beta-ing and encouragement on a regular basis. She's got all kinds of good stuff in store for you, so keep an eye on **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology **_**for updates!**

**Also, readers said they were having a hard time finding Amilyn's story **_**Distorted Views**_**. I can't link it here, but it's in my favorites and you can click through from there.**

**Re: The content in this chapter. OOC? Possibly. But, as some of you have mentioned, it's probably at least IC for the way I've developed the characters, at any rate.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She didn't want to wake him. He looked peaceful in his sleep and Brennan suddenly realized that Booth didn't look peaceful all that frequently. A state of quiet calm was not his modus operandi in daily life. At night, she found that he tossed and turned almost as much as she did, to the point that their combined efforts on the bedclothes at the end of each night resulted in the bed having to be remade from scratch almost every single day. Once intercourse was added to the mix, any bedding that still managed to cling to the mattress was likely to be ripped from its tenuous grip … Brennan made a mental note to research larger beds.

After his revelations, she could better understand Booth's typical hyperactivity. Angela had more than once pointed out to Brennan that her constant drive to work—her refusal to slow down for anything—was possibly a product of her not wanting to remember. By always keeping busy, she avoided the off-chance that old memories might make unpleasant appearances. It explained why she frequently avoided sleep, a state of consciousness wherein she had no control over her thoughts and dangerous recollections could launch sneak attacks on her. Definite psychology, but with an unusually good point, Brennan mused, contemplating her partner's relaxed features.

Booth was always so tightly wound up, in a totally different way from her. His desire to save the world one murder victim at a time, while keeping his loved ones safe and provided for, kept him constantly vigilant. When he was stressed, his back acted up, the pain a product both of physical injury and the latent tension in his muscles aggravating tender nerve endings. She'd only noticed that recently and wondered how she could have failed to catalogue that detail after so many years working together. To test this theory, she formed a hypothesis about the state of Booth's physical condition when he next awoke. She strongly suspected he would be in pain and would require spinal readjustment.

Brennan had never been of the opinion that she needed 'completing.' The societally romantic notion that somewhere out there was someone who could fill in the holes of her past and make her a complete human being again irritated her. She didn't feel she needed such completion, and—if she did—it definitely wasn't to be achieved by cannibalizing parts from another human being and using them as some kind of mortar to bind together the pieces of her fragmented self. Even further from her way of thinking was the belief that two broken people could somehow join together and make a healed whole. The whole notion screamed of society's absurd attachment to romanticizing co-dependent relationships.

Watching Booth sleep—his arm draped across her waist in an apparent attempt to protect her even in slumber—it occurred to Brennan that her relationship with him was providing the metaphorical substance with which she could repair some of the damage inflicted upon her inner core early in life. Perhaps she _was _taking from him in order to bind those pieces, but she was also giving in return, helping him shore up the ragged battlements of his own less than ideal upbringing. She was glad she had something to offer him to balance everything he gave her on a regular basis.

Regretfully, she lifted his arm away from her and scooted upright. She didn't want to wake him, but that would be breaking a promise. And she was already planning on breaking another promise tomorrow—today, really. So this one must be kept.

"Booth." She shook his shoulder lightly.

He hadn't noticed when she slid out from under his arm, but his reaction to her voice was instantaneous. She watched his eyes fly open and narrow. He didn't move while he assessed the situation for danger. Something in his past had taught him to lie still until he figured out what was happening. Brennan wondered if that was all the product of Army training, or also the result of a young boy who would have frequently woken with an immediate ear on whether or not his father was home and what his state of drunkenness—and violence—might be.

Orienting himself to time and place in the space of three seconds, he sat up. He winced as he did so.

"What's wrong, baby?" His voice was gruff with sleep and she couldn't find it in her to call him on the annoying endearment he absolutely refused to quit using.

"I had a nightmare."

Booth's jaw tightened. "Same one?"

"Similar." She observed his discreet attempt to rearrange his sitting position into something more comfortable for his spine. "Your back is hurting again."

"It's just a little sore. I'm fine." Booth grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind him, then extended an arm to her.

"After I tell you about the nightmare, will you let me readjust your spine?"

"That sounds good." He patted the spot beside him. "C'mere, Bones."

"I find it easier to tell you about such dreams when I have some space," she explained.

He dropped his arm, obviously a little disappointed. "Okay. Tell me."

"The nightmare had all the same components, but they were muted in comparison to earlier versions of the dream."

"Whatever time it is, it's too early for squint speak, Bones." He rubbed a hand across his face.

"I didn't find the dream as frightening this time."

"I'm still burying you, but you're not as scared?"

"You're crying as you bury me, and the coffin no longer has a glass lid."

"Jesus!" Booth's eyes went wide in dismay. "You mean the dirt is landing right on top of you? And you're watching it happen?"

"It sounds bad," she admitted. "But somehow I find it easier to contemplate."

"I don't," he said tightly. "The shovel is still in my hands."

She hated the frustration and sadness in his voice and moved up towards where he was sitting. She slid into the space between his shoulder and chest. Booth exhaled tiredly and settled his arm around her waist. In this way, at least, Brennan could see the wisdom of two people completing each other. Physically, they fit together just right.

"I'm sorry about your nightmare, Bones." He traced a pattern across her arm lightly. "I wish I could do something to stop it."

Brennan rested her head on his shoulder. "While I don't understand the significance of the changes in the dream, the fear it occasions in me seems to be receding. That's a good thing, Booth."

He said nothing, pressing a kiss into her temple instead.

"I'm sorry I woke you." Brennan shifted her position slightly, so that she could trace her own designs across his bare chest. "You probably hadn't slept much since Friday."

"I'm glad you woke me up, Bones."

She tilted her head to look at him with a mischievous grin. "I intend to wake you much more pleasantly in a few days' times."

He smiled, but barely. "Bones, I don't know how to make what happened on Friday right."

"You don't have to." She splayed her fingers across his ribcage, picking up on the rhythmic pulse of his heart. "You explained what precipitated your violence and I would say the circumstances were sufficiently extenuating to forgo an apology."

"I _need _to make it right," he insisted. "I had no right to treat you that way."

Self-loathing was written all over his face.

"Don't look like that," Brennan said, couching her concern with impatience. "You know I've forgiven you, Booth. Can't we just move on?"

"Bones—" he paused, struggling for words. "I should never have kissed you like that. I shouldn't have touched you that way. It was totally wrong."

"You were upset and were seeking some form of release of endorphins through makeup sex." Brennan twisted away and looked him in the face, trying to get through to him. "I _understand,_ Booth. I don't want to discuss it endlessly."

He looked at her for a long time without speaking. Then, he reached out and brushed her cheek very lightly. It was a typically tender gesture that she found both loving and reassuring. She turned her head into his hand and kissed his fingertips.

"Let me make it up to you with one last date, at least, before Week 6." He traced the curve of her lower lip with his thumb.

"You don't need an excuse to take me on another of your creative dates."

"No, Bones." His hand dropped to her shoulder. "I want this to be a different kind of date. The kind where you do your hair and get all dressed up and we eat fancy food that has names you'll have to translate for me."

"You hate that kind of date," Brennan said in surprise. "And I've enjoyed all our other excursions, Booth. There's no need for wine and dining."

"Wining. Wining and dining, Bones." He regarded her intently, his dark eyes searching her face for consent. "Just let me do this for you, Bones. I want to treat you the way you deserve."

"How do I deserve to be treated?" Brennan asked, still hearing all kinds of pain in his tone.

"With respect," Booth answered firmly, squeezing her shoulder. "You always should be treated with respect, Bones. _Always_."

"If I agree, after this date will you at least try and forgive yourself?" she asked. "I don't want Friday to end up being yet another sin you feel you have to constantly atone for, Booth. It was a mistake. I accept your apology. After the date, will you let it go?"

Finally, he gave her a real smile. The kind that made Brennan feel like she had somehow replaced the sun as the source of earth's light and heat in his eyes.

"I'll try," he promised. "Any chance we can go back to bed now?"

Brennan glanced at the alarm clock. **4:17. **

"I'm going to do some writing. You go back to sleep, Booth. You'll be busy the next few days."

He sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

Sensing he still didn't feel worthy enough to kiss her, Brennan initiated the contact, leaning in to cover his mouth with hers. His lips remained rigid for a moment, then softened and stroked across hers with care, making her shiver with the feather-light caress.

She loved how she could _feel _him smiling into her mouth when she had had enough of **light **and grabbed the back of his head to demand **deep.** Brennan put writing on the backburner for a minute and set about relieving her partner's feelings of guilt in a very pleasant way.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The partners lingered over breakfast in Booth's apartment, not quite ready for their 48 hour separation after the angst of the weekend. Booth reluctantly drained the last of his non-gourmet coffee and reached over to take Brennan's hand. He turned it over and pressed a folded paper into her palm, closing her fingers over it warmly.

"Just a little musical valentine, Bones."

Brennan squinted. "But we haven't been on our date yet."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Just listen to it tonight, when I'm not around, okay? And remember I love you, Bones."

"You won't let me forget," she answered wryly, with a crooked grin.

Booth released her hand and pushed back from the table, thinking how easily he could just spend the entire day staring at her in wonder, being grateful for her unaccountable forgiveness.

"Tuesday night. Hair, dress, the whole works, Bones. I'll pick you up at 9:00."

She finished her own coffee and got up, smoothing her hands across her slacks. "Have a good trip."

He leaned across and kissed her, deliberately keeping the table between them. Or her clothes would wind up seriously wrinkled. "See you Tuesday."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Recently, they had had a conversation about secrets. All relationships had secrets, Brennan had pointed out. But, Booth had noted, there were levels of secrecy. Brennan had squintified the situation and decided secrets could be categorized as ranging from levels 1 to 3, with 3 being the deepest and darkest. So they had agreed, after the usual back and forth, that any secrets they kept from each other should remain in the Level 1 range.

As the partners went their separate ways after breakfast, both were already breaking the agreement they had just made.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brian McKenzie hummed tunelessly as he fixed himself a BLT with lots of pepper and a dash of Tabasco sauce. Ever since getting out of prison, his taste buds had demanded an extra shot of spice on all his meals, to make up for the years of bland slop he'd been forced to eat if he wanted to live long enough to get out of the hellhole he'd finally been buried in for money laundering, after years of avoiding jail for other crimes.

He slapped a thick layer of mayonnaise on white bread and plastered the pieces of his dinner together. With a satisfied grin, he raised the triple-decker creation to his mouth. Only there was a problem. His hands seemed to develop some kind of palsy, shaking so hard that the juicy sandwich fell from his hands and onto the floor with a muted _splat_.

He found that he couldn't breathe, as though a piece of bread had lodged somewhere in his trachea, even though he was certain he hadn't even managed a single bite. It might've been explained by the arm lodged firmly around his throat. Or the gun pressed to the corner of his mouth.

"_Don't move a muscle," a deep voice warned him. "Not one single muscle, you sick fuck. If I even get a glimpse of your sorry face, you'll die very, very slowly. If you understand, whimper."_

McKenzie let out a terrified whine, gasping for breath. As his lips moved, the barrel of the gun intruded on his mouth, forcing its way toward the back of his throat, cutting off the flow of air even farther.

"_Years ago, you put your hands on a young girl. You said things to her … touched her in places a grown man had no right. Do you remember?"_

Through the haze of fear, McKenzie managed to think clearly enough to be torn. The intruder had said not to move a muscle. There was no air in his lungs to even try to answer. How was he supposed to respond? And which girl was the intruder referring to? The words of the intruder rasped in his ear.

"_You're smarter than I thought, Brian. I wish you'd moved. Then I'd have had an excuse to carry out my threat. You touched a young girl, Brian. You put your big, ugly hands on her breasts. You raped her emotionally. I'm sure there was more than one child who fell prey to your sick tendencies. You're probably wondering which one I mean. If you remember any of them, say yes."_

The muscular arm lodged under his windpipe shifted ever so slightly, so McKenzie could drag in a frantic mouthful of oxygen and the gun retreated a fraction, so he could gasp the words around the metal.

"Yes."

The arm replaced itself, once again cutting off his air supply.

"_Lucky for you, I don't know the other girls, or I'd be twice as angry. Unlucky for you, the one I do know is special to me. Very, very special. So I'm pretty angry already." _The voice had an odd, crooning quality to it, paired with a dangerously serrated edge that threatened to slice McKenzie in two at the slightest misstep. _ "You made a big mistake, Brian. A very big mistake."_

Pinned between the sink and the stranger's arm, feeling the world begin to fade away as he slowly choked to death on a steel barrel, McKenzie wet himself in terror.

"_Now you know how she felt." _The low chuckle in his ear was one he would hear until his dying day, which might be much sooner than he'd expected. "_I want to kill you, Brian. In my line of work, I have access to drugs that can paralyze you fully, while I cut you into little ribbons and force you to watch me. I'd like to cut your throat and watch you bleed to death, or put a bullet in the exact spot that would leave you unable to do anything but blink for the rest of your life. But I can't."_

Again, the arm loosened marginally and the cold steel slid backwards, granting him the privilege of another few seconds of life.

"_I can't, Brian, because the girl you hurt—the woman I love—won't let me. See, she trusts me to do the right thing, just like she trusted you. You let her down, Brian. I won't do that. She deserves better. So you're not going to die yet. Not today."_

Big fat tears rolled down McKenzie's face and trickled into the wrinkles of his turkey wattle neck.

"_But I'm watching you, Brian." _

McKenzie could feel the warm breath of the intruder just behind his ear. It was a sensation he knew he'd never forget, if he lived.

"_I know where you live. Where you work. Who your friends are. Where you go for a drink and buy your groceries. The second you slip up again—and you will, Brian, your type always does—I will be there waiting. When I get you, Brian, it'll be worse than anything you've ever imagined. Nothing your perverted brain can come up with will be as bad as what I have in mind."_

The barrel of the gun was withdrawn from McKenzie's mouth and his shoulders were twisted sideways, aiming him in the direction of the living room.

"_Walk with me, Brian."_

McKenzie stumbled forward, propelled by a combination of fear and the gun jabbed into his back. He slipped on a patch of tomato and mayonnaise and would have slipped if not for the arm still locked around his neck. He regained his balance and struggled the few remaining feet to the back door of the house. The intruder stopped him a foot away from the target.

"_Unlock it and slide the door open very slowly."_

Reaching out with shaking hands, McKenzie managed to release the latch and do as ordered. A hand grasped the back of his neck firmly and forced him to lean forward so his body was halfway out the door, held upright only by that intractable hand and the arm still at his throat.

"_Now. When I say __**go**__, Brian, you're going to run very, very fast. If you're not fast enough, I just might forget my promise and kill you anyway. If you understand, nod once."_

He nodded.

"_Good. Now, just remember, Brian. If you survive this time, you won't survive the next. You're already dead, Brian. Any time you manage to scavenge is borrowed from me. Go."_

McKenzie ran as fast as his legs could carry him, slipping and sliding on the rain-slick earth as he raced for the garden gate. He squealed like a stuck pig and flung himself face first into the mud as a bullet whistled past him and embedded itself into the wood a few feet away.

Booth holstered the pistol loaded with blanks and nodded grimly. As silently as he'd arrived, he slipped away, headed for another state. Another city. Another man who needed a reminder that Death had its sights trained directly on him, and was a damn good sniper.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan lied to Cam. Okay, semantically speaking, it wasn't actually a lie. She told her boss she was giving a lecture and would be out a good part of the day. Technically, she _was _giving a lecture. It just wasn't the kind Cam had understood it to be.

Booth would have been surprised by the vast network of people Brennan could plumb for information in an emergency. She'd called in old favors and her contacts had come through for her remarkably quickly, locating the address she wanted within 24 hours of the request she made on Monday.

Nevertheless, she had to move quickly. Angela was joining her to dress shop at noon, after repeatedly bemoaning the fact that she'd only been given a few hours warning about what was required to get Brennan ready for 'her big date.' She had a hair appointment at 4:30, a manicure and pedicure at 5:30—courtesy of Angela's insistence—and, apparently, Angela also thought she needed new shoes, so that joined the list of tasks to be squeezed in before 9:00, along with showering, dressing, putting on makeup. Everything.

So Brennan was in more than a little bit of a hurry as she pulled up on Tuesday morning at the driveway of the motel she'd been told her target was temporarily housed in. After bribing the desk clerk for the room key, she had a moment to reflect on the utter cliché of the circumstances while the clerk rummaged through his set of poorly organized spares.

An array of broken beer bottles and drug paraphernalia littered the streets directly opposite and around the motel. The sign was missing several letters, flaring _**V CAN Y**_in lurid yellow neon that was hard to see in the light of day. Various rooms had boarded up windows. There was even a faint chalk outline in one corner of the poorly paved parking lot, indicating some crime had been committed. While she had hoped that Joseph Booth might have changed his ways enough to explain that he had stopped by on Friday in order to apologize to his son, his choice of a place to stay was proof positive that Brennan's hopes were in vain.

The clerk finally located the key and handed it over, in exchange for another $20. Brennan could have done some serious damage to the teenager's gawky frame, but chose to refrain for a variety of reasons. She nodded curtly at the kid and made her way up a rickety flight of metal outdoor stairs, scanning the doors for **17-F. **Locating her target, she turned the old-fashioned key in the lock without hesitating and stepped into the room.

Joseph Booth wandered out of the bathroom in a pair of graying boxers and stopped short, shocked by the sight of the large gun pointed in his direction, and the woman behind it.

"Sit down," she ordered, kicking the door shut behind her.

"Do you even know how to use that thing?" he asked with a laugh.

"You're laughing again in a most inappropriate circumstance," Brennan noted, removing the gun's safety with an audible click. "Do you require empirical evidence in response to your question?"

He still didn't sit. "Honey, you're messing with the wrong person. Just a warning."

She smiled and fired the gun point-blank into a pillow. The silencer did its job and muffled all but the faintest _pop_.

Booth Sr.'s face blanched and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"The bullets in this gun are frangible rounds," she explained. "They essentially disintegrate on impact. So there will no forensic evidence, should you be considering tracing the bullets."

"I can destroy both your careers for this," he blustered, but sounded more than a little uncertain.

"If you knew anything about your son—or about me, for that matter—you would know that our reputations are unimpeachable. Your word would hold little weight against ours. As for your threats about messing with the wrong person—Mr. Booth, you have vastly underestimated me."

Brennan kept the gun firmly trained on him and reclined against the door. "I am going to ask some questions, Mr. Booth. You are going to answer them. Then I am going to talk, and you are going to listen. If you choose to interrupt, I am very capable of silencing you effectively. That much, at least, you should know from the magazine article that led you to my doorstep. If you understand, nod once. And, again, I remind you, do not underestimate me. There is possibly no person better qualified in the world to murder you and cover up the evidence of the crime."

"You're bluffing," Booth Sr. muttered.

"Would you like to call that bluff?" Brennan inquired, tightening her grip on the gun.

"What do you want?" he demanded, pulling at the waistline of his sagging boxers.

"I want to know why you tracked me down." Brennan repressed a shudder at the repulsive appearance of a man obviously in the throes of long-term alcoholism. His crepey skin and eyes were jaundiced to the point where she was certain his liver was failing. The beer sitting by the sink added credence to her assessment that nothing had changed where Joseph Booth was concerned. "What did you want?"

"I wanted to see my son." Booth Sr. smiled. "No harm in that, is there?"

The second bullet embedded itself in the mattress. He jumped and swore loudly.

Brennan returned his smile. "The next bullet will cause sufficient damage that a future forensic anthropologist will be able to detect the injury from the damage done to the bone. And, yes, Mr. Booth. I am surgically adept. So I can remove any sizeable bullet fragments and ensure that you do not bleed to death, while keeping you in a great deal of pain."

"Fuck! Lady, you are fuckin' _nuts_!" Booth Sr. skittered backwards on the bed as far as he could, until the wall stopped him.

"Answer my question. What did you want when you came to my door? I would suggest you tell the truth this time."

"I need cash, okay?" He swore again. "Jesus Christ, lady. No wonder Seeley hooked up with you. He always needed someone to push him around."

Brennan's cold smile vanished. "I would suggest you not speak of your son in a derogatory fashion again, Mr. Booth. As for your choice of epithets—Booth can use Jesus Christ because he believes. I would suggest you confine yourself to other standard four letter curses. I don't believe, Mr. Booth, and I prefer other forms of blasphemy."

The man looked utterly terrified by this point.

"Now I'm going to talk, Mr. Booth. You will listen. Nod if you understand me."

He nodded, pressing himself back into the hotel wall.

"Alcoholism is a disease that, in other circumstances, might evoke my pity, Mr. Booth. It destroys a person physically, as well as societally. However, I find I have zero compassion for your obviously deteriorating health. Nor do I care to know what you needed your cash for. If I discovered it was to purchase more alcohol, I would be further aggravated, and that would not bode well for your future well-being." She put on her blankest, coldest squint stare, knowing full well how intimidated strangers were by it. "While alcoholism may be a disease, it does not excuse your treatment of your family. I will not speak for your wife or younger son, but I will speak for your elder, Mr. Booth. You subjected him to a form of torture for the first decade of his life. Your mental and physical abuse left permanent scars. However, Seeley rose above that. In spite of your complete lack of parenting or even an adequate genetic contribution, your elder son has become an extraordinary man."

If she hadn't been so angry and focused on terrifying Booth Sr., she might have blinked away tears of rage.

"Your elder son is respected and he is loved by many people because of his sense of fairness and compassion. He would love you, Mr. Booth, if you let him. He would take care of you, in spite of everything, if he realized how ill you are. He doesn't believe it, but I know that part of him better than he does."

She contemplated the older man, feeling a new surge of anger at his blasé expression. He was frightened, yes. But he still didn't show any inkling of comprehendinghow wonderful his son was.

"Why did you laugh when I stood up for you on Friday evening, Mr. Booth?"

"You said I shouldn't say anything bad about Seeley," he mumbled.

"I will refrain from shooting you for answering the question honestly. Why did you laugh?"

"Seeley's mom had balls of steel. Watching you hand him his on a silver platter—" he snorted, in spite of the dire circumstance he was in. "He could never stand up to women, that boy."

Brennan's lip curled in disgust and her fingers tightened on the gun. She approached Booth Sr. slowly, appreciating the growing alarm on his countenance as she knelt on the bed and aimed the gun square at his genitals.

"I would hypothesize that your own testicles are quite small, Mr. Booth, not due to your total lack of moral character, but because of the toll alcoholism has taken on your system."

His mouth sagged in terror.

"Let me repeat, Mr. Booth," she said coolly. "Your son is an incredible man. The fact that his excellent character was created without the benefit of adequate parental guidance is only an additional testament to his innate decency as a human being. I can see that I will never be able to convince you of what the facts already clearly state. So I will attempt a different method of making you see the error of your ways in regard to Seeley: I love your son, Mr. Booth. He almost died for me. I would certainly die for him. And if you ever attempt to come back into his life without my consent, you _will _die. And nobody will ever find your remains. Do you understand?"

Booth Sr. continued to stare horror-stricken at the gun aimed in the direction of his crown jewels.

"I will maintain an awareness of you location, Mr. Booth," Brennan continued. "My contacts will inform me of your whereabouts. When the time comes for you to be hospitalized—and it will arrive shortly, from the symptoms you are now displaying—I will pay for your care. Booth might even visit you. He's that kind of man. Until such circumstances arise, however, you will remain removed from his life, as you have since he was 13. I would appreciate a verbal answer in the affirmative if you understand."

When he said nothing, continuing to gape in the direction of his crotch, she translated.

"That means say 'yes,' Mr. Booth."

"Yes," he croaked.

"Good." She backed off the bed and scooped up both pillows. "I suggest you try something other than beer for breakfast. It could extend the life of your liver by a few months, at least."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She got his voicemail as she arrived back at the Jeffersonian.

_Hey, Bones. Listen, I was thinking about Week 6—see if you can talk Cam into giving you 4 more days off, even if it's short notice, okay? __I'll explain later. _

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The damn ski mask was hot as hell, adding another layer of anger to Booth's already worked-up temper. Rochester was supposed to have been home from work by 2:00 today, dammit. All his sources said the guy got home from his late night shift as a janitor at that time. Like clockwork, they'd told him. Well, it was now pushing 4:00 and Rochester was nowhere in sight. Booth had a plane to catch at 6:00 and things to do before then. He was more than a little pissed.

The creak of the front door caught his attention and Booth stood up from the couch where he'd been waiting for over two hours. He quietly moved behind the tall, graying man who was obliviously carrying groceries into the kitchen. When Rochester turned, Booth smiled behind the mask and raised his gun warningly.

"I wouldn't scream if I were you."

One of the bags dropped with a crystalline _crunch._

"Were those the pickles?" Booth asked conversationally, closing the door with his foot and locking it with his free hand. "I hear you really like pickles, Wayne."

It pissed him off even more that the guy wasn't half bad looking. McKenzie had fit the exact picture Booth had had in his head of a middle-age slob, down to the potbelly and food stains on his shirt. Rochester, on the other hand, was neatly dressed in jeans and a button down. His glasses looked like they would be more appropriate to Clark Kent than to a pedophile. He was in reasonably good physical shape.

"Who are you?" Rochester asked hoarsely.

"Me? You might call me your worst nightmare." Booth waved the gun in the direction of a kitchen stool. "Sit."

Rochester obeyed, arranging himself carefully on the wooden seat.

"See, Wayne, I know somebody who has a lot of nightmares. You're in some of them, actually. What a coincidence, huh?" Booth raised an arm in mock amazement. "But I don't believe in coincidences. You wanna know what I know about you, Wayne?"

When the man remained silent, Booth prompted, "Say 'what,' Wayne, and I might not unload this gun into your head."

Rochester flinched and gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles. "What?"

"I know, Wayne," Booth began, "That many years ago you were a fairly successful guy, with your own company, selling construction materials. You had enough money to provide a good life for yourself and your wife. But you decided to supplement your regular income by fostering a few little girls."

The look on Rochester's face suggested he hadn't revisited _that _memory in a while. Booth strolled closer and propped himself against the wall barely two feet away.

"That's right, Wayne. You used the money you were given to support those girls and bought all kinds of fun stuff with it. Remember that little trip to Hawaii, where you left two of your girls all alone, without any food or money?" The memory of what he read in Brennan's file—he'd taken full advantage of the permission she had given him—made Booth grit his teeth in fury. "And then … then, Wayne, what else do you think I know about you? Say what."

"What?"

"I know that while your wife was visiting her mom out of town, you spent an entire weekend terrorizing a teenager. She locked herself in a bathroom to avoid your sick advances. Remember that, Wayne? Don't speak—just nod."

His face the color of the dingy kitchen tile, Rochester shook his head.

Booth frowned. "You don't remember?"

Again, Rochester shook his head.

Rage flamed bright in Booth's brain.

"You sick fuck. You chase a girl all around a house, feeling her up, trying to get her to strip, taking your own clothes off, and _you don't remember_?"

Head shake.

Booth controlled his anger with difficulty. He stepped forward and placed the gun square in the center of Rochester's lined forehead.

"You might not remember," he snarled, "But she does. She still has nightmares about it. I bet the other girls do too, but I'm here for that one girl, Wayne. For some reason, she doesn't want me to kill you. But she never told me not to hurt you. What do you think would hurt most? Bleeding to death with your balls blown off, or having the back of your head suddenly decorating your flowered wallpaper? Huh?"

"I got treatment," Rochester said unwisely. "I got turned in—prison—treatment—I'm not like that anymore."

"Maybe not." Anyone who knew Booth at all would know the sharp drop in his tone was indicative of **danger up ahead**. "But that doesn't make up for what you did back then. So let's help you atone for it, Wayne. Walk with me to the bathroom."

He followed behind as Rochester led him to a bathroom just off the living room. Nudging the man inside with the tip of his gun, Booth stepped back and leaned against the doorway.

"Run the cold water in the tub, Wayne, and plug the drain. Then sit down on the toilet and wait."

After the tub had filled with a fair amount of water, Booth spoke again. "Now take your clothes off. All of them. And get in the tub. I want you to remember what that girl felt like, cold and alone in that bathroom with you outside threatening to break down the door."

When Rochester had obeyed and sat in the tub shivering, Booth approached him again. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to his neck.

"Maybe you don't remember her, Wayne, but I bet you'll remember me, won't you? Say yes. But only if you mean it. I don't like lying."

"Yes." The word was more like a sob.

"And you'll remember that I'm watching you, Wayne? That one false move and you'll be experiencing a whole different kind of pain? Say yes."

"Yes. Please, please don't kill me—"

Booth slammed the butt of his unloaded gun into the lip of the tub, making Rochester jump hard enough to slosh waves every which way.

"If you fuck up," he hissed, "You'll be begging me to kill you in the end. Remember that, Wayne, if you ever get the urge to chase little girls again. I'm watching. You never know what I might see. Say you'll remember."

"I'll remember," the man squeaked.

"Great, Wayne." Booth stepped back. "I'm glad we had this little talk. Now. You stay in that bathtub until morning. If you try and leave it, I will know. If you try and run hot water, I will know. If you try and call for help, I will know. If you understand, say yes."

"Yes."

Booth nodded and strode away, holstering his empty gun without a backwards glance. He had a plane to catch.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He knocked on her door at about 8:30 and stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, uncharacteristically nervous. He hadn't spotted her car in the driveway, but it would be unusual for her to be out so late at night on a workday, unless she was at the lab. That was a definite possibility.

After a few moments of tense waiting, the door flew open on Temperance Brennan's beautiful face. She looked shocked for a moment, then smiled brilliantly.

"Sully!"

He barely had time to process her elaborately done hair or the mouthwatering dress she was wearing before she bear-hugged him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, drawing back after a moment that left Sully's body distinctly hungry for more of the same treatment.

"I flew into town to meet up with a couple of old fishing buddies. Figured I'd stop in and say hello." He stood awkwardly in her doorway as she headed back inside, without inviting him in, but leaving the door wide open. "Uh, Tempe?"

"Come in!" she called.

He stepped inside and saw her standing in front of a mirror, carefully adjusting her earrings while sliding her feet simultaneously into a pair of stilettos. Stilettos?

By nature, Sully was a confident guy. He'd ended things on good terms with Brennan, and they'd exchanged the occasional email and phone call since. At the back of his mind, he'd always hoped she'd come to her senses and see what a good thing she'd let slip away. If the killer dress was anything to go by, she definitely hadn't.

"Are you in town for a while?" she asked, fastening a necklace around her slender throat. "We could have lunch and catch up."

"I leave Wednesday afternoon." Sully shifted uncomfortably, aware he was intruding, but not exactly sure on what. "Hot date tonight, huh? Who's the lucky guy?"

She adjusted the necklace so it hovered exactly in the center of her chest. "Sully, you didn't come here to ask me about my interpersonal relationships. Why are you on my doorstep at 8:30 on a Tuesday night, when you know I'm usually working?"

"I guess I was hoping things had changed," he admitted. "But they haven't. Have they."

"They've changed," Brennan replied, smiling at him in the mirror, but not explaining.

A feeling of loss filled Sully's throat like acrid smoke. He'd always dreamed things would somehow work out for them.

"Tempe, I loved you."

She made her way across the living room, stepping carefully to avoid tripping in the obviously new shoes. "But you still left." Before he could reply in his own defense, she bent over her desk, searching for something, and continued. "It's okay, Sully. You loved me. Past tense."

"No, Tempe, I still do," he corrected. "I left because I didn't know how else to get you to see that you needed to do something besides work all the time. You didn't expect me to put my dreams on hold on the off chance that you might decide to sail with me five years later, right?"

"You just said 'I _loved_ you, Tempe,'" Brennan pointed out, still searching. "And, yes, Sully, I did. I didn't understand my emotions sufficiently at the time to ask you to wait for me, but that is what I needed from you."

"Tempe," he protested, "I'm not a mind reader. How was I supposed to know that?"

She shrugged. "You weren't." Locating whatever she needed, she folded a small piece of paper and tucked it into a jeweled clutch sitting nearby. Straightening, she played with the bodice of her dress, fussing with some invisible flaw.

"We had a good time together, Sully. I don't regret it. You loved me for what you thought I could be: A woman who drops everything to sail around the world freely. Booth loves me as I am, right now, today—a woman who isn't quite that free and might not ever be."

_Booth. Of course._

"It's been made clear to me that I have significantly selfish tendencies," Brennan added, turning to face him finally. "I'm glad you went off and pursued your dreams, Sully. Really."

"So you and Booth finally got around to dating." Sully stifled a sigh. Like it hadn't been obvious how the partners felt about each other in the first place. He'd just believed he might have that little bit more to offer than his erstwhile friend.

"Yes. We've been dating for the past five weeks," she confirmed, perched on the edge of her desk.

He whistled. "It took you guys that long after I left? Seriously?"

"He waited for me. He knew time was what I needed. I didn't know. And you didn't. But Booth did."

"I'm happy for you," Sully said quietly. "Really, Tempe. You deserve a great guy. And Booth—I hope he knows how lucky he is."

"He knows," she replied, typically self-confident. "Now, I'm sorry, Sully, but you need to leave. Booth will have a fit shit if he arrives and finds you here with me. I've discovered that some of his insecurities mirror my own. Had I informed him of your presence, he wouldn't be concerned, but he dislikes surprises."

_A fit shit_? Sully was still chuckling over that when Brennan was suddenly beside him, taking him by the elbow. "Call me when you come back into town again, Sully. I meant what I said about catching up."

"So no lunch on Wednesday?"

"I'm flying out of state for work tomorrow, and will be taking an extended vacation shortly thereafter."

"Both with Booth," he guessed. "And this time there won't be another agent hanging around dangling patellas distractingly."

"Even if there were, I wouldn't be distracted. I've been waiting for this vacation for a long time, Sully." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Goodbye."

"Hello?"

Booth's voice surprised them both. They looked over to the still open doorway where he stood, a huge bouquet of flowers in his arms, decked out to the nines in a very expensive suit. Sully briefly considered the notion that Booth had worked some kind of magic and was fixing to propose tonight. It sure looked like that was the scene being set for the evening. He quickly dismissed the idea as absurd. Brennan may have changed, but not that much.

"Don't have a fit shit, man," Sully informed the FBI Agent, clapping him on the shoulder as he brushed by on his way out the door. "She kicked me to the curb. Good to see you too, by the way."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Re: Booth's apology—there will be more, definitely. Just not yet.**


	61. Need

**A few readers commented that Sully's brief entrance seemed pointless. I'm sorry I don't have time to respond to everybody individually, but the reason I brought him in was to a) show that Brennan has definitely moved on from a man she really did care for and b) to show that Booth is learning to trust Brennan as much as she is learning to trust him.**

**Thanks to Eternal Destiny for continuing to beta and encourage me on blue days. If you haven't read **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**, you're missing out, just like you're missing out if you haven't read Amilyn's **_**Distorted Views.**_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He had a jealous streak, definitely. But all Booth could see, even as his former rival departed, were the blue eyes of the woman staring straight at him. Blue eyes with laughter in them, probably at the sight of his confusion. Blue eyes filled with love. For him.

Then there was the jade green dress she had somehow poured herself into, with the halter neckline and the deep v neck bodice that plunged down, showing off her ample cleavage and decorating the narrowest point of her waist with a small silver clasp. The satiny fabric hugged her hips in all the right places, cascading to the ground in a full skirt. She twirled for him with a small smile, and he swallowed at the sight of the wide straps crisscrossing her back, creating a tantalizing X shape that exposed her spine in all the right places, but wasn't so blatant that he'd have to put a coat over her when they stepped outside.

Brennan approached him, staggering once in her high _high _heels, but otherwise making it safely across the floor to him.

"Should I be nervous?" Booth asked, just to make sure. He jerked his head in the direction of Sully's retreat.

"No," Brennan replied emphatically, sliding her arms around his waist. "Not at all."

"And why is that, Dr. Brennan?" he asked mischievously, tucking the flowers into the crook of one arm and pulling her closer with the other.

Brennan sniffed appreciatively at the fragrant mixture of daffodils, daisies, rosemary, sage, lupines and posies. She took his hands and placed them at her waist. "I'm dressed up to go on a 'traditional date' with you. In a few days' time, I will be having intercourse with you. Sully is not included in either of those activities. Does that assuage your concerns sufficiently, Agent Booth?"

If that didn't, her welcome home kiss did.

After a while, Booth lifted his head. He reached into his pocket and extracted his set of Veronica's keys. Jingling them, he smiled at Brennan. "You wanna ride to dinner in style, baby?"

Brennan winced.

His instincts kicked into high gear. Booth closed his eyes in fear. "Temperance. _What did you do?"_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The young valet at the super-secure facility was new on the job. He had yet to learn the value of discretion when dealing with the Fortune 500 hoi polloi and sundry that paraded through the doors daily to pick up their prized toys for a car show, a high-powered auction, a wedding gift or maybe a divorce settlement. But he did recognize the psycho broad who had brought in the destroyed Corvette a couple days back.

"Returning to the scene of the crime?" he asked glibly.

Booth's eyes narrowed. From the passenger's seat, Brennan sent the kid a glare that could have kick-started the next Ice Age. As they got out of the SUV and started walking towards the sealed compartment where Veronica was housed, Booth reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her to a halt.

"Bones." Her partner's voice was high with nervousness. "What am I going to see behind those doors?"

She shook her head wordlessly, temporarily unable to speak.

Booth released her hand and strode forward, entering their combination into the digital lock. As the doors whooshed open, he took a step back and inhaled sharply. Brennan bit her lower lip as the mangled car came into view, its muddied, battered carcass looking even worse for the wear when contrasted with the white, sterile environment it was housed in.

He gasped and moved forward as though in a trance._ "Jesus_."

Brennan couldn't join him—the floor was covered in oil and mud and her long skirts would drag. She watched as her partner circled the car slowly, taking in all the scratches and dents, the oil leak slowly spreading across the floor from something or other she'd knocked loose on her off-road adventure, the broken taillight, grass-stuffed grille, mud-spattered seats and cracked mirrors.

He reached inside and popped the hood, then disappeared behind it. Brennan didn't know anything about car mechanics, but was fairly certain the internal damage was worse than the superficial injuries.

"_Jesus!"_ Booth's horrified voice echoed through the room. "Bones. Bones. You—you—you killed the car!"

"Technically, it was never alive. Living organisms are defined as having—"

"Bones! You _killed _the car!" He lowered the hood and stared at her. "Aw, Bones! Bones, Bones, Bones how could you kill the car? A car we've barely had two weeks? This was a piece of art and now—now—" he gestured wildly, "Now she's dead!"

"I was angry," Brennan said lamely.

"So, what, next time I piss you off you're gonna take out the Mona Lisa?" Booth cried, running his hands over the sadly warped bodywork.

She didn't understand his sentimental attachment to the vehicle, but the symbolic value it held in their relationship was one she had assigned to it. If the car was 'dead,' then maybe so was their relationship.

"Do you want to cancel Week 6?" She asked tiredly.

"What?" Booth's eyes jerked momentarily away from the murder victim. "Do I—no, Bones." He sighed heavily. "No. I don't. I just—just … Bones, how could you kill her?"

Feeling a little braver now, Brennan stepped forward in spite of the oil, lifting her dress and making her way to his side as he continued to take in the carnage.

"You can fix her," she said hopefully, touching his arm.

Booth looked at her in amazement. "Bones, you actually think I can fix this?"

"You restore cars, right?"

"Yeah, but, this isn't restoring, Bones." He lifted the hood slightly and shut it again just as quickly, shaking his head. "This is … resuscitating after the victim's been dead for a year and has so many bugs on it that Hodgins can easily determine time of death."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means I may be able to repair the bodywork—_may be_—but no way can I do anything about the rest. Bones—you took out the transmission, execution style. The suspension is gone. The alignment is probably all over the place. The radiator is leaking. The belt—Jesus, the timing belt doesn't even exist anymore. The engine—_God._ Veronica never even stood a chance."

"I don't know what any of that means," she repeated. "But you can fix it, Booth. I know you can."

"No, Bones," he said sadly. "No way."

"Booth," she insisted, squeezing his arm until he looked at her again. "I can pay for any assistance you require. All the specialized tools, materials—no matter how hard some of them may be to replace. Please. This can be our project, Booth. You can teach me. We'll fix it. We have to _fix _it."

He continued to glance back and forth between the car and her for another endless moment before he finally nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay." Again, he looked at Veronica, then back at Brennan. "All right, Bones. We can try."

"Thank you, Booth." She reached up and kissed his cheek. "Do you still want to have dinner?"

"Sure." Booth sighed and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Just remind me never to make you angry, okay, Bones? If that's what you did to a car, I'd hate to see what you'd do to me."

She butted her head into his shoulder. "I'll make it up to you during Week 6," Brennan promised, sliding her hand into his.

He squeezed her shoulders and, to her vast relief, smiled. "That's going to be some serious makeup sex, Dr. Brennan," he advised her as they made their way back to the SUV. "So break out the lingerie artillery."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_From her post by the cash register, Natalie Jones watched two of her favorite long-time customers settle into their regular booth. They were bickering, as always. Each sat on their usual side of the table. She scooted the silverware to the side, and he nudged the sugar stand further back, so they'd have more elbow room to lean in. It was a synchronized, automatic routine that Natalie had watched them perform for half a decade. _

_The only thing different tonight was that he was dressed in a nice tux and she was wearing an evening gown that seriously clashed with the kitschy décor of the diner. Plus, quite a lot more Dr. Temperance Brennan was on display than usual in that gown. Her partner seemed to be enjoying ogling her almost as much as the Italian Feast pizza Natalie had just set in front of him._

Booth hoisted a slice of diner pizza into Brennan's face and beamed.

"Now this …. _this_," he sighed happily, "Is real food, Bones."

Brennan sipped on her cappuccino and smirked. "Steak tartare is real food, Booth."

"Yeah. Real disgusting," he retorted. "How was I supposed to know it would be raw?"

"I tried to tell you." She stole an olive from one of his pizza slices.

"I thought you were kidding," Booth muttered, savoring a long string of mozzarella cheese. "I mean, who the hell eats raw steak, Bones? Huh? What about mad cow disease?"

"Bovine spongiform encephalopathy is a possibility when consuming raw meat," she agreed. "But many people enjoy the dish around the world, Booth, and don't become ill. The statistical probability is—"

"Squint it up all you like, Dr. Brennan," he said emphatically, detaching another slice from his pie, "_Rare _means partially cooked. Not totally raw. And they wouldn't even take it back and have the chef cook it!"

"You don't _cook _steak tartare, Booth," Brennan said patiently. "That would be the equivalent of eating caviar with cheese, simply because they're both frequently eaten on crackers."

"Raw fish eggs are just as disgusting as raw steak." He waved his slice at her.

"Raw oysters are considered a delicacy."

He shuddered. "The only food that passes through these lips is cooked, Bones. All right? _Cooked_."

"Oysters are known as potent aphrodisiacs," she said slyly.

"Hey!" Booth shot her a warning look, from behind his slice of pizza. "I don't need any aphrodisiac, Bones. I got plenty of my own."

She rolled her eyes. "I told you I would have been happy with a different restaurant."

"Yeah, but that one had a great Zagat rating. It was supposed to be the best." He frowned into his pie, which he was consuming crust first now. "I wanted you to have the best."

"According to you, this is the best." She shrugged and stole another olive. "My gorgonzola and wild mushroom rigatoni was delicious."

"Gormogon rigatoni." Booth muttered snidely. "I'm sure it was great, Bones. Really."

She changed the subject. "I have a few questions regarding Week 6."

"Yeah?" He waved his free hand—the one not occupied by a giant slice that he had now folded in half. "Fire away."

"Why can't you eat your pizza like a normal person?"

"Normal people fold their slices, Bones. And eat the crust first. You're the one that's just … not normal." He grinned and bit into his 5th slice before prompting, "Week 6?"

"We're not immediately going to start trying to conceive a child, correct?"

Booth's mouth hovered in mid-bite. "Do you want to?"

"I'd prefer to spend a little more time adapting to our new relationship. Perhaps in six months we can revisit?"

He nodded vigorously and resumed his eating. "I like that idea. I want a baby with you, but I want to have you to myself for a little longer, Bones."

"In that case," she continued, "You should know that I am on birth control and you do not need to bring condoms."

Booth coughed and his eyes darted around the diner nervously. "Little louder, huh, Bones?"

"**You should know that I am on birth control and you do not need to bring condoms."**

By the register, Natalie raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"Bones!" Booth yelped. "Geez! I was kidding. Tell the whole place we're about to have sex, why don't ya."

Brennan smiled innocently. "I'm also curious as to what positions you intend for the one night you're in control of all sexual activities, Booth."

He put down his pizza. "Public place, Bones? Maybe we should save this for back at the apartment, huh?"

"I'm only wondering because I know you consider me more sexually aggressive and I want you to know I do enjoy the missionary position. It stimulates the—"

"_BONES!" _Booth glared wildly at her. "First of all, I'm not going to tell you what I'm planning so you can follow it like a script. And second of all, we're not discussing sex. Here. _With Natalie and probably half the kitchen staff listening."_

"Not a prude," Brennan whispered into her cappuccino mockingly.

He sat back and crossed his arms. "So I take four days unpaid leave in order to extend our break, and all you can do is sit there and make fun of the fact that I like certain private things to stay _private_."

"You extended our break for your own purposes," Brennan pointed out calmly. "You realized you didn't want to wait any longer for sex than I did, and chose to add several days to our vacation so that we'd have time to fly to your mystery destination and back to mine without significantly curtailing our time."

"You sayin' you liked it better the other way?" he huffed. "'Cause I can change my plans, Bones. Cullen wasn't happy about those four extra days."

Brennan frowned. "Then you shouldn't have requested them, Booth. I appreciate your efforts to create a memorable first time for us, but aggravating Cullen was unwise, considering our relationship isn't technically within the rules."

"Cullen has no idea what I'm doing with my time off," he answered. "So don't worry about that. And I want to spend those extra days with you, Bones. But do you want to spend them with me?"

"Yes, Booth." She put aside her cup and covered his hand with hers. "I'm very much looking forward to Week 6."

He smiled. "Me too, Bones."

_Natalie watched them depart shortly thereafter, arguing yet again about something or other. Even so, his hand was firmly in place on her bare lower back and she was leaning into his touch, rather than objecting to it as she had in the past frequently. She even let him hold the door for her. As Booth followed her out, he turned and flashed Natalie a huge smile that told her everything she needed to know about the new line they'd finally chosen to cross in their relationship._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth emerged from the bathroom in the comfortable tee and sweats that he now kept at Brennan's place. As soon as Week 6 arrived, he intended to go back to sleeping buck naked. Stuff just twisted and tangled too much when he had to wear clothes all night. He headed for the kitchen, where Brennan was making herself a cup of tea, and paused before arriving.

The strains of a familiar song floated towards him, carried on a wave of electric piano and disco influences. He grinned widely as Brennan appeared in the hallway, kicking off her already unfastened shoes as she did. The picture she presented, in her gorgeous evening gown, gyrating to the funky beat of his latest musical valentine, was one he would add to his growing treasure trove of_ their_ memories.

_I believe in miracles._

_Where you from?_

_You sexy thing._

She stuck her chin out, bobbed her head and swayed her hips, all the while beaming in a goofy, joyous way that made Booth's heart just about jump out of his chest.

"All right, Bones!" he exclaimed, nodding in delight at seeing his partner letting loose. "Yeah!"

"I do not believe in miracles," she informed him, dancing closer, "But I do find you very sexually appealing, Booth. And the tune is infectious, I will admit."

He watched as she did a weird kind of little hop and grinned wider yet when she held out her hand.

"Come on, Booth," she coaxed, letting down yet another shield. "Dance with me."

_I believe in miracles._

_Since you came along._

_You sexy thing._

Brennan sang the next words back to him in her beautiful voice, leaning in with a saucy smile as she did. _"Kiss me, baby, you sexy thing."_

If he grinned any bigger, his cheeks were going to hurt the next morning. Booth planted one on her smiling lips and waited for the next line.

"_Touch me, baby, you sexy thing."_

"Not until Week 6," Booth laughed, backing away from her reaching hands.

Brennan shook her head, still grinning, and caught his hand to pull him in for an uncoordinated bump and grind session that had Booth laughing as hard as his body was suddenly hurting.

As they danced in her living room in their bare feet, one still dressed to the nines, the other casual to the extreme, both laughing at the absurd picture they knew they presented and not caring a bit, with their cat watching nearby in wary bemusement, Booth couldn't help but think that the lyrics of the song suddenly meant a whole lot more to him than they had when he gave her the valentine on Monday morning.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The woman was genetically pre-disposed to driving him crazy. Of this, Booth was absolutely positive. First, she wrecked the car—murdered it in cold blood—and then acted so sad and lost that he couldn't even get properly mad, because he knew she didn't have it in her to pretend those feelings. Now, he needed to get home, and she was being clingy. _Clingy!_ When the hell was Temperance Brennan ever clingy, except now that he really needed her not to be, so he could put the final touches on all manner of surprises he had for them on their break?

After their spontaneous dance-fest, she'd lured him onto the recliner under false pretenses of a massage, and was now curled up in his lap, still wearing her fancy dress. While nowhere near what could be described as 'big,' Brennan was also not small, except for her height in comparison to him. She was a substantial woman in more ways than one, and her curves filled the remaining gaps between the recliner and Booth's body. In other words, there was no wiggle room whatsoever, should he have decided to attempt to escape. Not that he minded having an armful of Brennan. Not at all. The scenario was straight out of his most highly rated fantasies. But there was the small matter of packing …

"Bones?" he whispered.

Her response was a sleepy, contented noise that further addled his brain.

Booth rubbed her back. "Baby, I need to leave …"

This time her small noise was distinctly unhappy. Booth had never really heard any of her noises before—he'd always found it hard to imagine her making any kind of sound that wasn't elegant and eloquent—but this was definitely a cross between a grumble and a moan. He decided he needed to hear more of her totally unsquinty, oh-so-cute sounds very soon. She burrowed closer, sending shockwaves of tenderness and desire through her happily frustrated boyfriend.

"Bones." He tried again. "You get tomorrow off. I don't, so I have to get stuff done tonight."

"I'm only taking the day off because you and Angela insisted on it." Her words were muffled against his shirt. "Why is Angela spending tomorrow with me, Booth?"

"I asked her for a favor, and she decided to add her own spin to it. And it's a surprise. So don't try and worm it out of me."

Brennan raised her head and looked at him through sleepy, sly eyes. "What if I try and kiss it out of you?"

"Ah, Bones, I need to—"

Whatever part of his brain it was that actually caused speech to happen by coordinating vocal cords, lips, tongue, spit, etc., ceased to function momentarily as she kissed him.

"God." Booth groaned into the softness of her mouth, fisting his hands in her hair in a desperate attempt to control his at-the-brink need. "I love you." As she twined herself even further around him, sliding and rustling all over his lap in her gown, emotions welled up within him with a ferocity that was alarming. "I love you," he repeated, breaking the kiss so he could look her in the eyes. "I love you, Temperance."

The last six years had been endlessly lonely, being so close to her, while still remaining at the prescribed distance. Trying to figure out _if_ he loved her, how he loved her, what kind of love he loved her, why he couldn't love anybody except her—all the questions were now answered and the sudden lack of tension was like the release of a long coiled spring. He felt the warning sting and knew what she would see as she looked up at him and it didn't matter for that moment that eyes filled with tears were unmanly.

"Don't be sad." She rested her hand on his cheek. "Why are you sad, Booth? Are you still upset about the car?"

He wanted to laugh at her obliviousness, but there were too many emotions chasing each other's tails in his guts at present. He could only handle so much and remain halfway sane.

"I've never done anything to deserve being this happy, Bones." He touched his lips to her very softly. "You're everything."

"Angela has repeatedly told me that love has nothing to do with deserving. But you do deserve happiness, Booth." She tilted her head closer to stare at him with her piercing gaze. "You're a good man. The best man I have ever known. You deserve as much good as any one person can receive. And as for my being everything …You keep saying that and I don't know what it means." Brennan's words were measured as she clearly tried to take the temperature of her own feelings, with little practice. "And yet … I feel the same way about you. It's contradictory."

"_Bones_." Booth closed his eyes and dragged her as close as humanly possible with all the piled up layers of her dress. He had no other words, so he said her name again and again. "Bones. Bones. Bones."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He stayed the night. Brennan felt marginally guilty at being so uncharacteristically possessive—needy, even—but having Booth's dark head on the pillow beside hers made any small worries about this new side of her dissipate quickly.

Long after he'd fallen asleep, she remained awake just listening to his heartbeat, counting his slow, even breaths, tracing the broad lines of his biceps, all the while internalizing the realization that he was a real presence. A physical presence. Not a fantasy from a long-ago locked away dream.

After a long time, she got up and headed for her desk. She could sleep on the plane tomorrow. Right now, there were things that demanded to be written.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth's internal alarm clock went off at 4:30 a.m., and he thought he managed to be remarkably quiet as he climbed out of bed, got dressed and prepared to sneak out the door of Brennan's apartment early enough that he might be able to finalize a few vacation details before going into work.

Brennan foiled his idea of a covert getaway by appearing the hallway just as he cracked open the door.

"Booth?"

"I gotta go," he said apologetically. "This is the last chance I have to finish up vacation details, Bones."

She nodded and padded over to him in her bare feet. He flinched as she leaned in, knowing that if she kissed him he'd carry her straight back to the bedroom without any regrets. With her hair rumpled, and her t-shirt ending right at the place where his fantasies began, Booth's blood ran hot. Her eyes blinked sleepy questions at him.

"Have a good day." She yawned, pressed a folded piece of paper into his hand, and padded away without so much as a complaint about his leaving.

"Hey!" Booth protested, suddenly upset that she would dismiss his early departure so easily.

Brennan turned and raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

Muttering a curse under his breath, he took the three steps toward her and pulled her into his arms roughly.

"I thought you had to leave," Brennan murmured in confusion as Booth pressed her into the wall and kissed her hard.

"I do." Booth swore again and kissed her just once more. Twice more. Okay, a third time. Just as Brennan's arms crept around his waist and her tongue began to tease his lips, he finally managed to break away, shaking his head as he put a safe amount of distance between himself and the tempting scientist, who continued to regard him with benign, drowsy bemusement.

"See you tonight, Bones," he said quickly, escaping out the door before she could further beguile him into staying the rest of the night in her inviting arms.

Once he was safely in the car, he finally took a look at the note she'd pressed into his hands.

**Booth,**

**I don't understand what happened tonight on the couch. I hope I was not responsible for causing you further, albeit unwitting, pain. **

**There are many things I would like to say to you, but I find my emotional eloquence severely limited in comparison to my scientific verbiage. I've discovered, with your assistance, that musical valentines are one way to share my feelings in a relatively apt fashion. As such, I did some research while you slept and located a new song. **

**The song is **_**I'll Stand By You **_**by the Pretenders. I don't know if you've heard it before, but the lyrics convey much of what I felt last night. I hope you will find the song meaningful, rather than offensive, or a challenge to your masculinity.**

**See you tonight.**

**~Bones**

Vacation be damned. Booth jumped back out of the car and sprinted back up the stairs to the apartment. He knocked hard, since she still hadn't gotten around to giving him a spare key, and waited impatiently until Brennan made her way from the bedroom to the door. She didn't ask who was at the door before opening it, a detail that Booth would reprimand her about later.

This time Brennan looked baffled, rather than simply confused. "I thought you had vacation details to plan?"

Booth stepped into the apartment, closed the door behind him, and took her in his arms again, pulling her hard against his chest.

"You didn't hurt me last night, Bones," he muttered gruffly into her hair. "You saved me."

He knew she wouldn't understand. He hardly did himself. They spent the last few hours of the night in Brennan's bed, enjoying the one aspect of their relationship that was crystal clear to both of them.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela had the entire day planned out. When Booth had approached her with his hesitant request, she'd almost kissed the man on the lips. Would have, if Hodgins hadn't happened to walk by. Understanding as her husband was, he had a definite romantic rivalry going on right now with the FBI Agent, which didn't need more fuel.

Determined not to waste a minute of their few hours together, she showed up on Brennan's doorstep at 7:00 am—an ungodly hour by Montenegro standards. As promised, Brennan was awake and ready to go, albeit still looking a little groggier than her usual put-together self.

"Did Booth keep you up late?" Angela teased as they headed for her car. She remained astonished by the man's apparently iron-clad restraint. If Brennan were capable of lying—and she really wasn't, unless the situation involved some kind of take-charge crisis—Angela would even have suspected that the partners had gone ahead and done the deed multiple times, and were just refusing to spill about it. But, Brennan didn't lie. Booth didn't either, for that matter. And Angela strongly suspected she would have felt the earth move had the moment finally happened for them.

"I'm the one who kept him awake," Brennan replied, scanning the empty cup-holder in dismay. "No coffee?"

"We're going out for breakfast," Angela announced. "It's the first part of our day. And you have to eat something totally unhealthy, Brennan. Sugar, fat, wheat, carbs—everything. Now, don't hold out on me! How'd you keep him awake? Did it involve slowly stripping?"

Brennan chuckled. "The opposite, actually. I was fully dressed in my evening gown, while he was in his usual sweats and a t-shirt."

"Yeah. My guess is he'll be sleepin' commando very shortly," Angela grinned. "Naked, sweetie," she translated, just in case.

"Why?"

"'Cause Booth is so uptight all the live long day … he needs to let things hang out a little bit under the sheets, you know? Plus, it'll make jumping your bones a lot easier for him the minute he wakes up."

"I would appreciate a naked Booth in my bed."

Angela shrieked. "Oh my God, Brennan, say it again! I need to get that on tape!"

"Once was sufficient, Ange." Brennan arched an eyebrow in amusement. "I have a question."

"Hold it for one second," Angela ordered, parallel parking outside The Slate Street Café on 12th street. "I need some caffeine and frosting before we start getting into your kinds of questions."

Brennan obeyed and waited until Angela had a sizeable latte in front of her, along with a piece of carrot cake that could have fed three Brennans.

"Try some," Angela commanded, holding up a fork. "You're having fruit, Bren. That's just so … wrong."

She waved the dessert away. "I dislike vegetables in cake almost as much as stewed fruit in pie. Why people can't compartmentalize ingredients—sugar for dessert, roughage and protein for the main course—is beyond me."

"Fine." Angela sulked, but perked up as soon as the smooth frosting hit her lips. "Mmmm, Brennan. You have no idea what you are missing. What was your question?"

Brennan stirred her cappuccino thoughtfully, watching the cinnamon ripples disappear into the silken foam. "Booth became … emotional last night."

Angela swallowed her bite of cake hastily. "Be a little more descriptive, sweetie. What I'm picturing really doesn't sound at all like Booth."

"Rather unexpectedly, his eyes began to lacrimate." Brennan bit into a piece of pineapple.

"You're saying Booth _cried_?" Angela translated, completely not hungry anymore.

"No." Brennan frowned. "Not overtly. His eyes simply … watered."

"He got teary-eyed." Angela sat back, processing this unexpected bombshell and hoping against hope that it didn't mean more speedbumps in the road for her friends. "Okay. Go back to the beginning, Brennan."

"When Booth arrived at my apartment, Sully was just leaving."

"Sully?" Angela interrupted.

"He was just leaving," Brennan repeated patiently. "Booth was surprisingly self-contained and did not become overtly alpha male in his behavior. I reassured him physically and then we went to look at Veronica, after he suggested we take her to dinner."

Angela flinched. "How did he react to the damage?"

"He was unhappy," Brennan conceded. "But he forgave me surprisingly quickly. And he insists his emotions later in the evening were not connected to what he termed my assassination of the vehicle."

"Yeah, okay, no, Bren." Angela had to laugh. "Much as Booth loves that car—and hot as it is that he didn't kill you for killing it—he's not going to cry about it. That's not the answer to the mystery. Keep going."

"We went to dinner at Chez Deux and he ordered steak tartare, which proved somewhat disastrous."

Angela didn't have to ask if Brennan had tried to tell him about the dish. She knew Booth and she knew Brennan, and she also knew without a doubt what had happened next.

"Booth was still hungry, so you wound up at the diner."

"How did you know?" Brennan asked.

"Because it's your thing, sweetie. It's your safe place." Angela resumed eating, thinking this might not be as bad as it had originally sounded. "Whenever something doesn't go quite right, that's where you guys head. Plus, Booth probably really wanted one of their burgers after his encounter with potential E. coli."

"He had pizza," Brennan corrected. "He said he couldn't look at beef for the rest of the evening. I had never considered the diner in those terms, Angela."

"Consider it later," Angela ordered, well aware of the tangents her best friend's bizarre, if genius, thought process could take. "What happened next, Bren?"

"He ate and we went back to my apartment." Brennan stirred her coffee harder, sparking Angela's curiosity. Dawdling so wasn't her best friend's thing.

"_Bren_," she prompted. "What happened?"

"We danced," Brennan said quietly. "I initiated the activity and … we had fun."

Angela scrambled out of her side of the booth and grabbed Brennan into an excited sideways hug. "Oh, _Bren_!" she exclaimed in delight. "I'm so happy for you, sweetie. And so proud of you, for taking that chance and just … _being _for a change."

Brennan awkwardly returned the hug and then waved her back to her seat. Reluctantly, Angela sat back down, trying to remember there might be something major coming down the pipeline.

"After dancing, he wanted to go home, but I asked him to stay for a while. I did not want him to leave.

I'm not accustomed to being possessive, Angela. It bothers me."

"Sweetie." Angela sighed and wrapped her hands around her latte. "That's not being possessive. That's being in love. You want to spend every minute of every second of every day with him. It's totally normal."

"That's an exaggeration. I still need my space, Ange," Brennan insisted. "I just … I just didn't want him to leave."

Angela allowed this one to slip by uncontested. "Yeah, okay. So you're on the couch, like you said before, and you're in your dress and he's in his sweats and what happens next? Did you get handsy with him, Bren?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I kissed him," she acknowledged. "It was very pleasant and then …" she trailed off in confusion, before narrating the remainder of the story. "He became very intense. He repeatedly told me that he loved me. And then, suddenly … " she waved her hand helplessly, "Lacrimation."

Angela exhaled in a combination of relief and emotion. "Brennan, those weren't sad tears. He just got a little overwhelmed having you suddenly want him to stay, instead of always demanding he leave. He was happy, sweetie. And a little scared, probably."

"I understand the first part," Brennan said slowly. "I've been erratic in my feelings for Booth over the years, so his relief at my insistence that he spend the night, rather than requesting that he stay an arm's length away, makes sense. But why would he be scared?"

"Because he still can't quite believe it's real, Brennan," Angela explained gently. "And because he's Booth, and he just doesn't think he's good enough for you."

"He did indicate that he believes he doesn't deserve me," Brennan acknowledged. "I tried to reassure him of the opposite. Despite his abusive childhood, I don't fully understand why he lacks so much self-confidence, when he is empirically an extraordinary male by any standard of comparison."

"Not many people have told him that, Bren," Angela pointed out. "It's kind of like you—you know you're gorgeous and brilliant, but you're not so sure about other parts of your personality. You know there's something a little bit different, like all the other squints, that people don't always get, and it makes you feel flawed sometimes."

Brennan nodded slowly in agreement. "I agree so far.

"Booth's the same way," Angela continued. "He knows he's strong and an amazing marksman and that a lot of women want him. But most women have only wanted him because of that—because of his looks and the badge. Not because of everything else you see in him."

Now Brennan looked confused and more than a little wary. This whole emotional thing was clearly still one big booby-trap for her and she was just waiting for the other end to snap down on her neck.

Angela reached across the table and squeezed her friend's hand. "Booth's been waiting a long time for somebody who loves him that way. And so have you, even if you can't see it yet. You two _get _each other, Bren. That's amazing for anybody—to find that perfect fit with someone else in this big world—but especially for you guys, when life has been so hard in so many ways. Booth realized that last night, I think. It … it touched him, Bren. The big tough FBI guy is so in love he can't even see straight and last night he finally figured out it's not all going to go away if he blinks, no matter what mistakes he might still make."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan considered all of Angela's words carefully, slowing them down much more than she usually would filter anything through her warp-speed brain. She'd omitted the early morning part of her story. The moment had been unusually tender and was not one that Brennan felt it appropriate to share, given the context of Booth's confession to her in the doorway. A confession that made more sense in light of Angela's words of advice.

Considering Booth's recent emotional revelations—his anger at her abandonment of him on the steps, his nightmarish childhood, the unfettered anger she'd seen unleashed on the man who had deprived him of all innocence at a very early age, his uncharacteristic aggression toward her—she could see where the guilt Angela described came from.

He would have piled one incident on top of the other and come to the conclusion that she was yet another person in his life who couldn't see past the badge or past the sins he himself couldn't forgive himself for. Just like people so rarely could see past her brain, or her social missteps, for which she berated herself much more than anybody knew.

"He needs reassurance," Brennan realized yet again, but this time verbalizing it. "Like me."

"You need to think of a way to give him that reassurance, Bren," Angela advised, finishing the last bite of her cake. "Obviously, it's not going to be an everyday thing, but think of something special you can do during your vacation to show him you're sticking around and that he means something to you more than just a fling."

Brennan nodded. "I see the logic in such a gesture and … I would like Booth to feel more secure about my feelings toward him."

Angela dropped a few bills on the table and stood up. "That's something that'll just take time, Brennan. The longer you go without flipping that light switch—without running away—the more he'll start to believe that he means something real to you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan glared at the list of clothing that Angela had given her.

_Jeans_

_Waterproof jacket_

_Wool sweater_

_Windbreaker_

_Light-weight shirts (that can be layered)_

_Hiking shoes_

_Thermal fleece_

_Hat_

_Gloves_

_Camera_

"Angela, I already own the majority of these items."

Angela snorted and continued to tow her friend along in the direction of the Outdoors Gear Outlet at the local mall. "Sweetie, comfortably worn clothes that you used all summer long at some dig are not what you want for your first real vacation with Booth."

Brennan frowned and dodged a vendor proffering some kind of gold dust facial treatment. "Why not?"

Angela turned into the store, leading Brennan past various outdoorsy displays in the direction of the clothing. "Because clothes that have been covered in bone dust at any point in time are so totally wrong for the hot and sexy break Booth's got planned for you."

"Where is Booth taking me?"

"You really think I'm gonna tell you and ruin all the hard work he's put into this?" Angela shook her head in amusement and began grabbing articles of clothing off nearby racks without even looking at sizes. "Give it up, sweetie. You'll find out when you get there and drag him immediately off to bed to say thank you."

"That won't be happening," Brennan muttered, trying to take a pair of particularly impractical hiking pants from her friend.

"Excuse me?" Angela waved the pants out of reach and grabbed her by the shoulders. "What did you just say? Brennan, did you actually just suggest that you might _not _be finally getting it on with the man of your dreams after six years of my endless waiting?"

"_He'll _be the one dragging me off to bed," Brennan retorted. "He wants to be in control the first night. And that's all the details you're getting from me, Angela."

If she hadn't been so determined to overhaul Brennan's wardrobe, Brennan was certain that Angela would have physically swooned on the floor of the store. As it was, she just grinned from ear to ear and grabbed up another ridiculous piece of fashion masquerading as hiking gear.

"Oh, sweetie. In charge Booth _demands _the cutest hiking gear we can find you."

"I don't understand," Brennan grumbled, grimacing at a bright pink fleece Angela whisked off a shelf. "Booth already finds me attractive, regardless of my sartorial preferences." She trailed Angela in the direction of the changing rooms, picking up several more practical items of clothing on the way. "And my intention is to remain unclothed with him for as much of the vacation as possible. Self-gratification has a severely limited aspect that I intend to remedy shortly."

"Vibrators are no substitute for virile G-men," Angela agreed happily, pulling away Brennan's personal picks in spite of the scientist's protests. "No khaki, sweetie. We're going for color. Catch his eye. That kind of thing."

"Angela," Brennan complained, as her friend pushed her into a dressing room and shut the door behind them. "These hiking pants have flowers on them! And I'm not even certain they're waterproof."

"So you'll get cold and wet after a long hike and Booth will warm you up." Angela beamed, lost in her own little world of romance.

"Booth did mention such a sexual fantasy," Brennan conceded, shucking her slacks and blouse.

"Of course he did." Angela selected an ivory button-down blouse and held it up to Brennan with a critical eye. "Any scenario that involves him rescuing you is going to be top ten on his list, Bren. I like this color against your skin. Try it on."

Brennan gave in and complied, pulling the pants on, followed by the blouse. "Buttons are impractical in outdoors situations."

"Promise me you'll wear buttons anyway that first night," Angela insisted, eyeing the garment critically. "I love the pants, but the blouse isn't near fitted enough." She handed over a pale green blouse in a similar style."

"Why should I wear buttons?" Brennan asked, her voice muffled as she pulled the blouse over her head.

"If I know anything about Booth, he's going to want to undress you sloooowly, Brennan. Buttons are romantic." Angela stepped back as Brennan adjusted the second blouse. "I like that. Put this fleece on over top of it. The cobalt shade should bring out the blue in your eyes. And try this hiking skirt."

"A hiking skirt is impractical to the extreme." Brennan took the fleece and flat out refused the purple skort-type garment that Angela held out.

Sighing, Angela returned to her vast selection and extracted a pair of black jeans that she pressed on Brennan. "You need to wear your hair up that first night, too."

"Booth likes my hair down. He says he wants to—"

"Rub it over his skin," Angela finished the sentence for her. "I know, Bren. Any guy would want to do that with your hair. The point is for him to have to take the hair down piece by piece, so it's seductive. Like with the buttons. Make him work for what he wants."

"He's worked a great deal already," Brennan pointed out, turning to look at the jeans in the mirror. "While I already have a similar pair, these do fit nicely."

"And they go great with that blue fleece. Booth is going to want to rip them off of you immediately. Now try this jacket on …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Several hundred dollars and multiple pairs of shoes later, the pair lugged Brennan's purchases through the mall toward Angela's next intended destination.

"I'm going to need an overly large suitcase for all these clothes," Brennan complained. "I prefer to travel simply, Angela."

"This vacation isn't only about what you prefer, Brennan. It's about what Booth prefers. And, after all the work he's done, he deserves a crazy hot date."

"Weren't you just saying he needed to do more work?"

As she'd been doing all day, Angela chose to ignore her friend's insistently obtuse comments and steered her instead toward a salon. "They do a great mani-pedi here."

"Angela, it is absolutely pointless for me to get a manicure and pedicure when it seems very clear that Booth has outdoor activities planned for our vacation." Brennan dropped her bags and planted her feet. "I'm not going to spend my holiday worrying about the appearance of my hands and feet."

Angela could be just as stubborn as her best friend. She crossed her arms and glared in the kind of way that made Hodgins cringe in fear of what was coming next. "You're completely missing the point of all this, Brennan. So you'll get muddy and sweaty and gross. So you'll chip a nail or three. Who cares? At least you'll look good the first night, and Booth will know you cared enough to try. And then you can shower off the nasty together and get him all hot and bothered again by repainting your toenails in front of him."

"I don't believe Booth has a foot fetish. And I'm certain he will not be nearly as concerned with his appearance as you're insisting I be."

"If he was, I'd be worried," Angela laughed, scooping up an armful of bags. "Booth getting a mani-pedi is a scary place that I'm not going, Brennan. Now come on. Felicia has our seats reserved. While you and Booth are being outdoor geeks, Hodgins and I are taking a weekend trip to New York City and I need a little girly glitz to go with the bling he'll be buying me." She paused, looked over at her shoulder at her still lingering best friend and sighed, then turned back towards her. "Brennan—this is a really special moment for you guys. You're about to take a huge leap forward in a relationship that's been stalled in first gear for way too long. Let go, sweetie. Just … get all dolled up and watch Booth act all cute and terrified at how sexy his girl is. _Enjoy _having the man of your dreams drool over your every blink."

Brennan continued to stand there, looking utterly unconvinced.

Angela bear-hugged her ferociously. "Get excited, Bren!" She shook her by the shoulders gently. "You both deserve this so much."

Brennan capitulated and lifted the remaining bags from the floor, following Angela inside the salon. "If you believe such measures will make the vacation more memorable for Booth, I'm willing to put up with them."

"Don't just put up with them, sweetie." Angela dropped into a leather chair and handed off her bags to a waiting attendant before waving Brennan into the next seat. "Soak them up. Just have fun with me today, Bren. Let me treat you to this spa day. I'm so happy you're finally in this place."

Brennan gave her bags to the woman and settled into the recliner. "I'm excited, Angela," she said quietly. "I simply show it differently than you do."

Angela reached over and squeezed her arm. "I know, sweetie. Better yet—Booth knows. And he'll be one happy guy when you show up at the airport tonight looking all va-va-voom."

"I'm going to look like a car?"

"Va-va-_voom_, Brennan." Angela giggled. "Not va-va-vroom, like the Corvette you assassinated. We definitely don't want Booth thinking of that over your break!"

"All right, Ange." Brennan rolled her eyes and laughed. "Your point is well taken. I will allow you to dress me up and make me over so that Booth can then undo all your efforts our first evening together."

Angela crowed gleefully. "_Now _you're getting the picture, Dr. Brennan!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o **

"Where is he?" Angela muttered to Hodgins, as Brennan settled into an uncomfortable airport chair nearby. Surrounded by her neat pile of suitcases, dressed in one of the new outfits Angela had made her buy, she looked both lost and nervous.

"He's not answering his cell," Hodgins hissed back. "The last time I saw him was when I went to pick up the cat and he was running in and out of the apartment, in between interrogations. He'll be here, Ange."

"He better be, or what Brennan did to that car won't hold a candle to what I'll do to him." Angela paced worriedly. "He was late for their first kiss. He's late for their first vacation. I don't like this."

"Bones!"

Three heads swiveled toward the voice. Angela started forward and Hodgins grabbed her by the waistband in warning.

Booth stood in the airport doors, still in work clothes, a duffle bag clutched in one hand. The look on his face was an exact match for Brennan's—excited, terrified, uncertain.

Angela and Hodgins watched as the couple started toward each other slowly, like something out of a movie. The physical distance between them was small, but to the watching artist and entomologist it represented the vast ground the partners had traversed to get to this point together. Other airport passengers turned to watch, drawn in by the inexorable vortex that suddenly surrounded Booth and Brennan.

They came to a halt in front of each other. Booth slung the duffel bag down at his feet, eyes locked on Brennan's. He reached out tentatively and touched the simple new layered cut, lingering at the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. He said something, but it was for their ears only, so Angela had to fill in the gaps in her own mind.

_You look beautiful, Bones._

_You're late again, you asshole. Angela insisted that I alter my appearance in order to show my appreciation for the vacation you've planned._

_Angela's on crack. I can't wait to strip you naked, baby._

Okay, so maybe that last bit wasn't quite what Booth might have said, but the wide grin that spread across Brennan's face had to be in response to _something_ like that, Angela mused.

Brennan slid her hands up his chest, and lifted her face to his. He gathered her close and smiled down at her, laughing a little, shaking his head in obvious amazement and relief.

_I love you, Bones. I've been waiting forever for this, baby. I am one lucky guy._

_I love you, Booth. I do not believe in luck, but I feel very fortunate to be here with you today. I've also been waiting a long time for this, but not forever. Forever is an abstract concept that—_

The dialogue playing out in Angela's head was cut short as Booth bent and kissed Brennan so tenderly that Angela teared up and would've squealed if Hodgins hadn't pre-empted her by covering her mouth with his hand. She looked over her shoulder at her husband, who had his arms wrapped around her waist, and found him grinning just as widely as she was.

"You're such a softie," Angela teased, kissing his chin before turning back to watch again.

Brennan was standing on tiptoe, her arms now wrapped around her partner's neck, pulling him closer to her still. There wasn't enough room left between them for even an errant atom to intrude on their moment. It was all them. All Booth, awestruck at the beautiful genius in his arms, protective of any airport strangers who might be ogling her in her snug black jeans and low-cut, sheer gold blouse, and overwhelmed at finally being about to get on the same plane as Brennan, rather than flying in opposite directions. All Brennan, completely unreserved when it came to showing her love physically, possessively staking her claim on her FBI guy, demanding he make the kiss that little bit less tender to satisfy her perpetual edge, and probably just as surprised as Booth that there was a one-way ticket in her pocket to somewhere other than Guatemala.

When the partners finally broke off the kiss and moved to gather up their bags, they were both visibly surprised by the scattered applause that broke out around them.

"You just made a few complete strangers very happy," Angela told Brennan as her friend approached to say goodbye.

Tellingly, Brennan didn't press for further details. She hugged Angela tightly. "Take good care of Joseph. Have fun with Hodgins in New York."

"Have the best time of your life, Brennan," Angela said warmly. "I mean it. Don't hold anything back. And ride the man till he's lame."

Hodgins made a choking noise nearby, where he was talking with Booth. Booth turned a distinct shade of red that made Brennan grin wickedly at Angela.

"Emotionally, I may be somewhat unreserved. Physically … Booth may find me a little too … open," she laughed, hugging Angela one last time and turning toward Booth. "I didn't get a cart, so I'll need some assistance carrying my luggage to the baggage check. Are you ready?"

"You have no idea," Booth muttered, thumping Hodgins on the back before glancing at the pile Brennan was pointing at. "Geez, Bones. How many suitcases are you bringing?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Re: The super cheesy dance scene. What can I say? It's my own version of their **_**Hotblooded **_**dancefest, minus Booth blowing up. =)**

**Many thanks to those readers who continue to leave kind, detailed reviews of my work, inspiring me to continue writing in spite of my crazy schedule.**

**Next chapter: Week 6 begins. No physical fireworks yet, but at least they're getting on a plane and heading that direction!**


	62. On the road

**A/N: Thank you—and thank you and thank you and thank you—to Eternal Destiny, who keeps me writing, and smiling, even when all I want to do somedays is bury my head in the sand like an ostrich, in hopes that when I emerge things will be markedly different at school. She has wonderful surprises in store for **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**, so watch for them! I remain in awe of her ability to describe a scene in such a way that I actually feel like I am walking through it and/or seeing it on my TV screen. And I've yet to find another person who writes a Booth and Brennan kiss scene as well as she does. *jealous* =)**

**I continue to highly recommend a visit to Amilyn's **_**Distorted Views**_**, if you haven't read it yet. She beautifully writes Booth and Brennan struggling with adversity, coping with life's curveballs as a seamless team.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I still don't understand why we were given champagne," Brennan commented as they waited for the last of her bags to come off the carousel in Albuquerque.

Booth debated whether to explain to her that the airplane crew had clearly gotten the impression they were newlyweds. He definitely didn't want Brennan realizing that this little vacation was pretty much his version of a honeymoon, without an actual wedding.

"You're a best-selling author, Bones," he reminded her, spotting the white and red cherry-decorated suitcase that Brennan had explained Angela had made her buy because it was easy to spot in the middle of other luggage. Eyeing the innuendo-laced suitcase art, Booth strongly suspected Angela's reasons for insisting on the purchase were less than practical. "They were probably hoping for an autographed book or something." He lifted the small travel case as it went by and set it next to the other two larger suitcases Brennan had brought with her, plus his own bag. "Is this it?"

Brennan nodded, looking a little sheepish. "I really had no intention of bringing so much luggage, Booth. Angela can be very coercive."

Booth tossed the duffel bag strap across his back and hoisted the travel case and one of Brennan's other bags. "We can keep most of it in the rental car until we finish up here in the Southwest."

"Booth, your back—"

"I'm starving, Bones," he cut in. "And we need to rent a car and find our hotel before I get to eat. So move it."

The airport was tiny and finding Avis wasn't a problem. After a typical back and forth, they settled on a Prius hatchback.

"I hate the desert," Booth grumbled as they loaded the bags into the trunk, sweltering in the surprisingly warm evening breeze. "It shouldn't be 100 degrees in September."

"The digital readout in the rental office said 97," Brennan corrected. "Are we going to argue about who is driving?"

"Hell, no," Booth said in disgust, getting into the car and glaring at the oddly placed stick shift and the strange-looking dashboard, with its large computer screen in place of the usual gas gauge. "I don't do space age Japanese cruisers, Bones. I'm strictly an American-made kinda guy. You can do all the driving."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Damn, this is good." Booth sighed in satisfaction. He held out his green chile cheeseburger. "Sure you don't want a bite?"

Brennan glanced down at her quesadilla, rice and beans. "The addition of green chile doesn't change the composition of the sandwich, Booth. It's still made primarily of beef, which I abstain from. The horchata is very good, however. Would you like some?" She indicated the large beer mug at her side.

"Okay, Bones, that's just wrong. Why would you put rice milk in a beer mug? That's just false advertising right there."

"Rice milk is an oversimplification of the actual ingredients in the beverage."

"It's made from ground rice and it has milk in it. That's what I call rice milk," he said firmly, tearing off a chunk of fried bread and dipping it in honey. "What are these again?"

"Sopapillas," Brennan replied. "They're apparently traditional in South America, though I never encountered them in my travels."

"Well, I call them _good_." Booth held out a piece enticingly. "There's no stewed fruit in it, Bones."

Brennan brushed aside his hand and beckoned him forward with her index finger. He leaned in curiously.

"What, Bones?"

"I'd rather taste it from your lips." By the time he'd processed her words, her mouth was glued to his by the honey and she was busily sampling the local cuisine via his own very grateful palate.

"Green chile and honey." Brennan drew back and licked her lips thoughtfully. "It's an unusual combination, but I like it."

Booth resisted the urge to knock the table between them somewhere into the middle of the restaurant and jump her right then and there.

"Twenty-four hours," he reminded her unnecessarily, draining the last of his beer. "Then it's you and me, Bones, and nothing in between."

"I'll wear buttons," Brennan said randomly.

"Yeah?" Booth swallowed at the visual that popped into his head. "Yeah. Uh, you do that, Bones."

Unperturbed by her suddenly tongue-tied dinner companion, Brennan ripped off another piece of sopapilla and dunked it in honey. The way she ate it with relish, licking every sweet bit off her fingers, made Booth's beleaguered body howl for release.

"Booth."

"Huh?" he muttered, running a finger around the collar of the tee-shirt he'd changed into at the hotel. "You sure it isn't 100 degrees here?"

"It's later than we arrived, so I presume the temperature will have dropped, not increased," Brennan obliviously noted. "Booth, what do you plan on calling me our first time?"

He sat back against the retro vinyl seat, scrambling for purchase when the whole evening had suddenly mutated into one big undress-Brennan-fest in his head. "Ah—our first—our first time. Our first time when we …"

"Have sex." Brennan waved at the waiter to ask for a refill on her drink. "Notice I didn't say intercourse, per your request."

"At least now I know it's not just our diner where you deliberately embarrass me." Booth drummed his fingers on the table. "Any chance we can have this conversation somewhere else, Bones? Like back at the hotel?"

"I have a better idea. I did some research on Albuquerque, Booth. There's one place I would like to visit before we drive to Arizona tomorrow morning."

"Would this be the place that made you insist we fly here instead of there?" Impractical Brennan was a novel phenomenon that Booth definitely wanted to explore further. "I mean, now we have to drive across 400 miles of desert, Bones. That's just boring."

Brennan smiled into her drink in a way that worried Booth. "I can make the drive interesting."

"Whatever the hell you're thinking," he warned her, "It ain't gonna happen while you're driving. That's just not safe, Bones. No way."

She raised a shoulder casually. "I have no idea to what you're referring."

"Messing with your partner's head isn't nice, Bones."

"Neither is keeping her waiting for four months, while the experiment stretches out indefinitely due to all manner of delays," she said with a wry smile.

He had to laugh. "So, okay, six weeks was over a few weeks back."

"A few?" She shook her head. "I don't think you quite grasp the situation, Booth." Again, she beckoned him forward, and again he leaned in, unable to resist the lure of playful Brennan, no matter what kind of trouble it got him into.

She placed her face close to his, so he could see the mischief gleaming in her eyes. "I have required a great deal of self-gratification in order to abstain from intercourse with you these last months."

He would've sat back if at all able, but Brennan in this mode had some kind of tractor beam effect on him that kept him locked in place. "It can't have been that much," he whispered, praying no eavesdroppers were picking up on the drift of the conversation. "We've spent the night at each other's places almost every single day."

"So?"

"So, you wouldn't be … you know … with me …" Booth trailed off, as Brennan looked at him in amusement. Flashing red sirens went off in his brain. "You mean—you—you know-with me in bed _right next to you_?"

"When you were asleep."

"_Bones!" _ Booth hissed furiously, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say after that—and how the hell he was even going to be able to leave the restaurant without completing embarrassing himself. There wasn't anything like a hat around he could use as a shield for his suddenly really tight pants.

"Are you repulsed?" she asked curiously. "It's a perfectly normal activity, Booth, practiced by both humans and primates."

"_Bones!" _he growled again, frantically reciting sports stats in his head. "No, I'm not repulsed, dammit."

"Are you aroused?" Her voice dropped several notches as she asked the question. "And I'm curious as to how you've managed to remain so self-restrained, Booth. Have you—"

"No!" Booth exploded, causing the waiter to glance over at him strangely. That was one perk of the diner back home—all the staff knew better than to pay much attention to the goings on of the corner booth. "Jesus, Bones, what are you trying to do to me?"

"It _is_ less discreet for a man," she mused calmly. "Keeping quiet wasn't easy for me. However, you must have achieved release in some fashion, Booth. In the shower, perhaps?"

Booth ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Maybe pain would distract him from all those visuals of … pleasure. Twenty-four hours to go and he was _this _close to breaking.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"It's the longest tramway in the world." Brennan parked their Prius in between two other hybrids and pointed to the long stretch of cable running seemingly from one end of Albuquerque's mountain range to the other. "The research I did indicated that sunsets are a particularly good time to take a ride."

"Are you going to tell me all the pretty colors we'll be seeing are because of pollution?" Booth groused, getting out of the car.

"Actually, New Mexico's famously colorful sunsets are more likely due to the elevation and clouds. Clouds at a high altitude are hit by the sun's rays, before the rays pass through to the lower atmosphere where the air is charged with more particles." She locked the door and walked around the car to take his hand as they walked up to the ticket booth. "The vivid oranges and reds that the sunsets here are known for are due to that filtration at a high elevation."

"Sometimes I swear I understand your Romanian better than your squint," Booth sighed, paying for their tickets and handing one to Brennan. "Just try and enjoy the show tonight, instead of explaining every detail of it to me, okay, Bones?"

She shrugged. "I derive enjoyment from understanding how and why things occur. However, if you find such explanations onerous, I will attempt to curtail their frequency."

"Aw, Bones." Booth winced at the subtle hurt in her voice. He slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the other passengers waiting in line to pay. "You know you're my favorite science teacher." He gave her a winning smile that earned him nothing more than a miffed glare. Resting his forehead against hers, he turned on the charm. "C'mon, Bones. School's out for the summer—or at least for the next two weeks. When we get back home, you can put me in detention for not doing my homework, Professor."

He could see the war going on behind her eyes as she struggled between remaining annoyed and being amused at his antics.

"Detention can get very boring, Bones," he pointed out playfully. "You'd have to devise some form of entertainment to keep me from breaking out of jail."

The smile was almost there. It lurked at the corner of her lips, even as she coolly asked, "Did you frequently get put in detention, Booth?"

"All the time," he grinned. "It's how I got all my dates. I was the school bad boy, baby. Girls loved rogue Seeley."

"If I admit something right now, Booth, are you going to hold it against me for the remainder of our relationship?"

Booth frowned and leaned back. "Bones, the remainder of our relationships means the rest of our lives, as far as I'm concerned."

"That's precisely why I'm concerned," Brennan noted. "I don't want this confession to come back and haunt me repeatedly, whenever you need to exact revenge."

"Geez, Bones." Booth exhaled heavily, wondering how the hell she managed to go from the vixen at the retro diner to the sulking squint to the wounded woman so damn fast. "Maybe I went a little overboard reminding you of your mistakes the last six years, but I've tried to quit since you pointed that out. Cut me a little slack here. I'm not out to use your past mistakes as ammunition."

"It's not that kind of a mistake. It just occurred to me that you would've been the boy I found eminently attractive in high school, from a physical standpoint, at least."

He swallowed a nervous chuckle of surprise that she might have taken the wrong way. "Wow. I, uh, never thought you would've been interested in something other than your AP chemistry back then, Bones."

Brennan finally smiled. "I was a child prodigy, Booth. Not an automaton. The same hormones that affected other teenage girls had a pronounced effect on me."

"Sorry, Bones," he said wryly, "But I can't exactly see you gawky and covered in acne."

"You already know I was physically uncoordinated. But my sebaceous glands were never particularly problematic." She moved forward to slide her arms around his waist, beneath the warmth of the light windbreaker he'd put on after leaving the diner, when the temperature dropped to 65 unexpectedly. Booth closed the jacket around them and returned her smile, still uncertain.

"The hormones I was referring to were the romance novel variety, Booth. I started liking boys at the same age most girls do. They just … didn't like me."

He kept quiet, not trusting his mouth to do anything useful other than kissing her at the minute.

"Academically, of course," Brennan continued, "I would have been less than impressed with your notoriety. Nevertheless, you would have been the boy I fantasized about in teenage romantic ideations. The one I avoided bumping into the hallways, in order to avoid humiliation when you ignored me."

Booth's brain flashed back into an alternate universe many years ago, when he was the center of the universe for half the female student body. The other half—the half that weren't brainless, heavily stacked ditzes vying to pile on top of him behind the bleachers—were girls like Brennan. Completely uninterested in the social status pyramid crowned by jocks and cheerleaders. Shy. Studious. The ones that lurked on the fringes of the hallway, attempting to remain unseen, lest they be shoved into lockers or worse.

"Was there, um, a version of, uh, 'me' in your school, Bones?" he asked cautiously, tucking his hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

"Nathaniel Kent," she confirmed. "Tall, dark, unafflicted by the coordination and glandular problems that other teenage boys his age suffered from, eminently arrogant, athletically gifted. He was an altogether terrible student who only managed to pass his classes by cheating, and remained the center of my fantasies for quite a few years."

"I didn't cheat," Booth protested, not liking the description of his alter ego one bit, but unable to refute it. "At least, not usually. Did this guy even know you existed, Bones?" A twinge of ridiculous jealousy sped through him, fired by the notion that a phantom jock might have once ogled Brennan unchivalrously.

Brennan snorted in amused derision. "Would _you_ have noticed me back then, Booth?"

"Bones, I'm really glad you didn't know me back then," he said, dodging her question. They both already knew the answer anyway. "I might have done something … cruel."

"No," Brennan said. "You would have ignored me, like Nathaniel. But if I'd dropped my books in your line of sight, you would have helped me pick them up, Booth. And you wouldn't have made fun of me. Unlike him."

He couldn't lie to her. "I'm not so sure about that, Bones."

"I am," she said simply.

If the ticket operator hadn't chosen that precise moment to call for riders to board, Booth would have gladly spent the rest of the evening lost in Brennan's trusting gaze. He might not have been the teenage Romeo of her fantasies, but he promised himself he'd spend the rest of their lives together making up for the times he might have snubbed her in a school hallway, or turned down her request to prom.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The cable car was crammed with enough passengers that Brennan and Booth were pushed closer and closer together as people jostled for the best seats. They sat ensconced in each other in the far right corner of the tram's west side, content to be shoved and stepped on, so long as the direction they were being pushed was on top of each other.

When a particularly large, loud passenger trod on Brennan's toe, she gave Booth a warning glance as he started to rise to her defense. She squeezed his hand to try and convey she appreciated his protective instincts, though they weren't at all necessary, and was happy when he gave her a rueful grin in return and leaned his head against hers as the tram began to ascend, after various safety precautions had been blared over the loudspeaker.

There was no question the scenery was spectacular, with Albuquerque's vast desert and mountain pinnacles stretching out beneath them, backlit by the bruised purple and red glow of the sky. The Sandia Mountains were aptly named. With the sun setting directly behind them, their granite and limestone faces became suffused by a pink flush, not unlike the color of a piece of watermelon—sandia, in Spanish.

Still, Brennan found the view eclipsed by her partner's hard body and warm embrace. All her senses were tuned directly into him, bypassing the natural wonders around them.

Strong winds buffeted the cable cars, causing the tram to tilt at alarming angles that gave them unexpectedly good views of the canyons beneath them. Various passengers shrieked and clutched complete strangers, and Brennan leaned into Booth. She didn't look up, but knew he was smiling as he kissed her head. Brennan closed her eyes, blocking out the camera flashes going off around them. For a change, she wasn't aroused, she wasn't alarmed. She was simply … content.

"Booth." She spoke softly, knowing he would somehow hear her anyway.

He pressed his lips close to her ear. "What?"

"I'm happy."

"Me too, Bones." His voice smiled at her in the dusk darkness, creating an intimate cocoon around them in the midst of all the noise of the wind and excited conversations. "Me too, baby."

"Hey everybody! Look!" An excited shout managed to draw even Booth and Brennan's attention. Irritated at the interruption, Brennan lifted her head and glared at the young man standing—illegally—in the middle of the cable car, pointing. She followed his finger to the car behind them and spotted a large blue and red sign.

She poked her partner to make him turn around and look with her. "Booth."

"What?" Equally unhappy at the interruption, he twisted to see what everybody was yammering about. Somehow managing to cling to the side of the cable car in spite of the strong winds, the hand-painted sign declared to the watching world,

**Rebecca Jane, will you marry me?**

A woman on their tram—presumably Rebecca—let out an ecstatic scream that left Brennan's eardrums ringing. She threw herself against the window of the car and shrieked her answer, as though her hopeful boyfriend would be able to hear her across the distance.

"Yes! Yes! YES!"

Brennan rolled her eyes at the cliché. "He couldn't think of something more original?" she muttered to Booth.

"I'd say proposing by cable car is pretty damn unique, Bones." He frowned. "Give the guy a break."

Too late, she remembered that his own proposal had been shot down in flames by … Rebecca.

"In spite of my views on marriage, I still believe your suggested manner of proposing to be much more innovative, Booth," she told him, trying clumsily to repair the damage.

The tram bumped to a halt at the end of the cable and Rebecca scrabbled at the door, trying to open it before the operator could get there.

Booth gave Brennan a muted smile, tinged with sadness that she suddenly, desperately wanted to erase. "359 days, Bones," he said quietly, and stood up to assist the bride-to-be in her distress at being unable to escape the cable car prison, even though the operator had now unlocked the door.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Can you please stop slurping?" Brennan demanded as she eased her foot off the accelerator yet again. The early morning stop and go traffic in Albuquerque had taken both of them by surprise. Traffic in DC didn't start until 5:00, at least, and it was barely 4:30 in this small desert city. Nevertheless, a steady barrage of semitrailers and Prius'—the highest concentration in the nation, according to Brennan's research—inched along slowly ahead of their car.

Booth rattled the dregs of his McDonald's iced coffee. "I'm thirsty."

"You just bought that."

"I wasn't expecting to still be in Albuquerque by this point," he griped. "I figured we'd be a couple hours away, maybe stopping for gas or something."

"Well, we're not," she said tersely. "And we're going to be late for our appointment if traffic doesn't speed up fairly quickly."

"Easy, Bones. You're pricklier than that cactus I almost fell in this morning. What gives?"

She'd been jumpy ever since they'd gotten up, snapping at him for all kinds of small things that generally would have earned him no more than a mild reprimand. He worried that the marriage proposal on the tram might have planted ideas in her brain that he really didn't need her to be having at this exact moment.

"I'm not looking forward to confronting the woman who may have murdered multiple foster children. However, I would very much like to get there before she's released and has the chance to harm other innocent kids."

He suddenly felt like a total idiot for not realizing the kind of impact this kind of interrogation might have on his partner.

"If we're late, we're late, Bones," he said gently. "The FBI isn't going to pull us from the case because we got stuck in traffic. Listen, if this is too close to home—"

"I _want _to be in on the interrogation, Booth," she interrupted firmly. "I will compartmentalize when we reach Arizona and will behave in a completely professional manner."

"It's hard to … 'compartmentalize' something so close to your heart," Booth pointed out carefully, aware that he was perilously close to the razor-sharp edge of Brennan's current mood.

"We should have flown," Brennan fumed, choosing to avoid his question. She honked at an Impala that tried to horn in on her lane without even turning on his blinkers. "We'd be there already."

"Why _did _you decide we should drive?" he asked, trying to distract her from the old demons rattling around in her head. "We didn't just fly into Albuquerque for a 15 minute tram ride, Bones. I know you better than that. And we could've caught an early flight out this morning."

"Our relationship has largely revolved around extensive conversations in your SUV during stakeouts," Brennan answered stiffly. "My decision to drive was irrationally based on the notion that it might somehow be appropriate to arrive at Week 6 in a similar style as to how we began the experiment."

When she got upset, she had a tendency of using four words when one word would do just fine, even more than usual. Booth sifted through the mess of verbiage and extracted what he hoped was her overall meaning.

"You asked me about the experiment on the car ride to the Hawthorne crime scene. So you're saying you kinda wanted to bookend things with this road trip." He trod very, very carefully, knowing all too well that Brennan hated having her sentimental side put in the spotlight.

"In a manner of speaking." Brennan reached for the radio dial, clearly attempting to cut off the conversation.

Booth covered her hand with his at the risk of having her break what she would have called his phalanges. "You said you had a game we could play on the road trip, Bones. A way to keep me entertained."

Brennan pulled her hand away and refastened it on the steering wheel, glaring at the jam-packed road ahead.

"C'mon, Bones," he coaxed. "Play with me. I'm booooored."

"We can't play until I can pull off to the side of the road for a minute," she replied cryptically. "There's a letter from Zack in my purse, Booth. He gave it to me shortly before we flew out of DC and I forgot to give it to you on the plane. Maybe that will keep you entertained for a short while, at least."

"From Zack?" Booth picked up her purse from the floor and dug around in it until he located the plain white envelope labeled _Agent Booth_. "Bones, why is Zack writing to me?"

"He just gave me the letter to deliver, Booth. I didn't read it."

Deciding she needed a couple minutes to cool down, he zipped his lips and tore open the envelope.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Dear Agent Booth,_

_I elected to write this letter to you, rather than making a phone call, in order to avoid the inevitable, awkward excuses you would make about why you haven't visited me. I bear no resentment for the lack of contact with the outside world, but it is largely the reason I decided to pen this missive. I would have typed it, but our access to technology is severely limited on the ward._

_I have a great deal of respect for you, Agent Booth. I'm aware that you are nervous around me—my intellect makes you feel inferior, while my lack of physical prowess renders you distinctly uncomfortable. You're what my roommate refers to as a 'guy's guy.' I'm still not certain what I am. I am not a girl's guy, but I also am not a guy's guy. I suppose I fall somewhere in between, on an unscientific scale that does not accurately measure social propensities. Perhaps I should design a more accurate measure. It would help occupy me._

_Excuse the digression. I find that I am increasingly 'living inside my head,' in an attempt to carry on meaningful conversations with someone other than my fellow patients, none of whom know anything about science or engineering. I was trying to convey my respect for you both professionally and socially. While we were never friends, our daily interactions provided me with more than enough evidence upon which to base my assessment of your moral and professional character. Dr. Brennan's high esteem only furthered the notion that you are a good man, Agent Booth._

_Since my internment, Dr. Brennan and Hodgins have been the only non-family members who have been to visit me. Their weekly phone calls, letters, and monthly visits provide me with sufficient mental stimulation so that my brain doesn't atrophy completely. (That is a metaphor, by the way. The brain is not a muscle and cannot, therefore, atrophy, and, even if it were, is constantly working unless afflicted by a specific disease such as Alzheimer's or dementia, none of which are genetically prevalent in my biological family.) I tell you this not to engender pity—that only confuses me, as my status as an inmate is solely due to my own misguided thinking, which resulted in the loss of multiple lives—but to further corroborate the statement I am about to make:_

_In as much as I am capable, Agent Booth, I love Hodgins and Dr. Brennan. Hodgins is my best friend. He remains confused and angered by the situation in which I have placed myself. Nevertheless, he continues to visit me and, I believe, harbors similar feelings of friendship, though I don't understand why he would reciprocate, when I have nothing to offer from my end._

_Dr. Brennan has become something of a surrogate mother to me—something I am certain she is not aware of, nor is it something she would be comfortable with hearing. I myself would never have thought of her in those terms until my internment, because of the professional boundaries between us. But the care with which she has extended herself to ensuring that I don't become completely isolated—the packages she sends, her visits on every holiday, the time she takes to drive up and see me, or to plead on my behalf when I've managed to get on the nurses' bad sides yet again through an inadvertent social misstep—are a mirror for how my own mother behaves when she has the money to visit. So I am forced to conclude that Dr. Brennan has a deeply maternal side that I somehow failed to observe while working under her at the Jeffersonian. A maternal side from which I have greatly benefited, without biological ties._

_I suspect you are now growing impatient at the tangential nature of this letter. In our brief professional affiliation, I noted that you don't handle stream-of-consciousness very well. So I will 'cut to the chase,' as Hodgins would say, though I fail to find any literal meaning in such an idiom. What am I cutting? And whom am I chasing?_

_Dr. Brennan has explained your experiment to me, and has also shared a few of the (non-salacious) details of your evolving relationship. During my tenure at the Jeffersonian, I never understood why Angela was so insistent that you had feelings for Dr. Brennan, or that she had feelings for you, when I never saw any visible evidence of desire from either of you. It has now been made clear to me that you were engaging in some form of codified ritual, avoiding consummation in order to prevent any damage to your professional relationship. Apparently, Agent Booth, you love Dr. Brennan. And she loves you._

_I believe you are intelligent enough to recognize the inherent, unquantifiable value, of such love and loyalty. I myself had not understood it until my internment. To love and be loved by a person who values your presence in their life, regardless of worthiness, is unique and not at all common. I will dispense with advice on a subject on which I know very little, and will close the letter as follows:_

_As I have said, I love Dr. Brennan. I believe that you will somehow earn her love and trust, and will care for her in the manner that my parents still care for one another after decades of marriage. I would suggest that you should take care of her, but she would not appreciate such a sentiment. However, should you __not__ take care of her, and/or give her reason to doubt the validity of the love and trust she has chosen to bestow upon you, I will hurt you, Agent Booth. You may laugh at the notion that I could in any way physically cause you harm, but my current place of residence—and the manner in which I arrived here—should suffice as concrete evidence of my threat. I learned too late how valuable love and friendship are, in addition to pure science. Had I understood these abstract concepts earlier, perhaps I would not be where I am today._

_Whether or not she would like it, I am asking you: Take care of Dr. Brennan. Love her. Don't try to change her. And if you hurt her, be aware that I will find my way to your doorstep in physical form or via messenger._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Zack Addy_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Booth?" Brennan's voice broke into his whirling thoughts.

Booth looked at the letter in his hands, feeling a surge of sadness and guilt for his failure to see the potential in the young man Brennan held in such high regard. If he'd been a little kinder—a little more of the mentor figure Zack had so desperately craved—maybe—maybe—maybe the kid wouldn't have wound up seeking that same affirmation from a cannibal. If he'd only listened to Brennan's pleas to be nicer to him—

"What did Zack say?"

"He loves you, Bones."

"He views me as a mentor," she corrected.

"No, Bones. The kid loves you way more than that."

"Did he say that?"

Booth stared out the window. He wasn't even sure what was appropriate to share with Brennan and what wasn't. Would the letter upset her, or touch her, as it had him? "He asked me to be a good boyfriend."

"Is that all?"

"Bones …" he struggled to find the right words, so as not to hurt her, but also so as not to betray the trust Zack had placed in him. All the years Booth had failed—refused, really—to establish a connection with the boy genius had crumbled to dust, replaced in the space of a few neatly written lines with the deep tie he felt with another individual who understood the depth of his love for Temperance Brennan.

The kid had offered to kill for her. Brennan wouldn't much like the notion that there were now two of the men in her life—three, if you counted her dad—who felt the same way. "Don't take this the wrong way. I –it's just—uh—the letter's kinda personal. I'll call Zack when we get to Arizona and ask if it's okay for me to share it with you."

"That seems reasonable." Brennan's gaze had softened considerably in the long minutes Booth had spent reading the letter, even though the traffic was still bumper to bumper. "He would really like it if you would go with me to visit him occasionally, Booth."

"I'll go with you next time," he answered hoarsely, and glared determinedly out the window, decidedly unhappy at having turned into such an emotional sap of late. It had to be all that pent up sexual tension. Once the deed was done, his brain would go back to functioning in its normal way and he wouldn't go getting all sappy every third minute for no reason.

"So what's the game, Bones?" he asked, desperately needing something light to jar him out of the funk he suddenly found himself in. "Do you really have to pull off the road in order for us to play?"

"Yes." Brennan shook her head at the endless traffic. "Once we're past this construction or accident—whatever it is that's causing this delay—I'll stop at a gas station so you can get another drink, and then I'll give you the instructions for the game. In the meantime, you never did answer my question from yesterday, Booth. What are you planning on calling me the first night we have sex?"

Well, he'd asked for a distraction, Booth sighed inwardly. And imagining any kind of horizontal activity with Brennan was _definitely _a distraction.

"I don't know, Bones," he hedged. "I just figure I'll call you … whatever comes off my lips at the moment."

"What would be your preference, though?"

"It's not like I've thought it all out down to the last detail, like one of my dates," he answered in frustration. "So I have a few ideas about how the night's gonna go. That doesn't mean it's gonna be scripted. Geez, Bones."

"The question wasn't intended to offend," she said, surprisingly receptive to his mood. "I'm sorry if you took it that way. I just wondered if perhaps what you called me in your fantasies would project itself onto reality."

"Well, what do you call _me_?" He turned the question back on her.

"Generally, Booth. Occasionally Seeley or Agent Booth."

_Shit._ He should've known she'd have no problem answering. And now it was all back to him.

"It'll probably be Bones," he muttered. "Okay? That's who you are to me—Bones. Temperance might slip out every now and then. But usually Bones. Oh, and probably 'baby,' more than once or twice, so you're just gonna have to deal with that one."

"So in your fantasies I'm never Dr. Brennan?" she inquired mildly.

Booth almost spluttered in horror. "Hell, no! Sorry, Bones. You're a sexy squint and all, but the science stays way _way _out of the bedroom when it comes to my fantasies. There are _no_ skulls and bone fragments in mybed." He shuddered at the thought.

"Professor Brennan?"

"Every now and then," he admitted. "It's that whole detention thing again. Can we change the subject now? Please?"

"I still have questions, and traffic isn't moving. What is my role our first evening together, Booth?"

"Huh?" He was really beginning to regret having opened up this kettle of worms. He should've just kept her talking about Zack.

"I realize that you want to be in control, and I have agreed to cede to you for the evening. However, I am generally unaccustomed to being submissive. I'm uncertain what you require in order to feel in control. For example, can I touch you?"

He knew it was an innocent question. Her tone indicated general puzzlement—the kind that Brennan would definitely exhibit when confronted by an unfamiliar situation, such as one where she had to sit back and follow for a change. Nevertheless, the parade of images that marched through Booth's head in response to the query were anything butblameless in nature.

"Ah, Bones," he groaned, "Of course you can touch me. Just … dammit … I can't give you instructions like off the back of a recipe card, or something! We'll see how things play out, okay? Whatever feels right in the moment."

"So you're not planning on handcuffing me to keep me submissive?"

Okay, _that _wasn't innocent!

"If you keep this up," Booth retorted, "Maybe I will."

The smirk on her face told him he'd played right into her twisted little game of drive-him-crazy. It faded too fast for him to scold her, replaced again by that vaguely worried look.

"It seems you don't wish to discuss the climax of our experiment, Booth, but I still have concerns."

"Hell, Bones," he muttered in complete frustration, "You're supposed to be looking forward to this! Not dreading it or analyzing it like some science project."

"I'm very much looking forward to it." Her eyes flicked away from the road to his momentarily and back again. The heat he saw in that brief gaze reassured him significantly. "But I'm aware this is a moment you've built up in your own mind to a degree that I'm not certain I can meet."

"Bones," he said as patiently as he could, "You're not going to disappoint me. Even if you decide to shred my clothes and draw blood, instead of letting me go soft and slow like I want to, it'll still be hot as all get out. The whole point is that it's you and me this time, Temperance. And we're _good _together. You know that."

"We are," she agreed, reaching out unexpectedly to touch his knee. "We are good together, Booth. That should translate into love making."

"Hey, Bones, you said love making!" Booth exclaimed, squeezing her hand.

"The terms are synonymous." She removed her hand from his grasp and returned it to the wheel.

"Then why do you always call it sex or intercourse?" he challenged.

She shrugged. "You've repeatedly made your preference for the terminology clear. I was attempting to be flexible."

"However you want to squint it up, you _know_ this is going to be different from everyday garden variety sex, Bones. C'mon. Just admit it."

"Given your penchant for privacy, it hadn't occurred to me that our first night might be outdoors." She turned her attention to passing a particularly slow-moving Outback Subaru, squeezing their car in between the SUV and a Honda Civic.

"Now you're playing dumb just to mess with my head." His eyes narrowed in aggravation. "You know exactly what I meant. Love making is different, Bones. You'll see."

"I look forward to learning how it differs from sex." She glanced over at him again and smiled slightly. "In one way, at least, I do recognize this sexual consummation will be markedly different from my previous experiences."

"I don't want to hear about your previous experiences, Bones," he reminded her futilely. "And can you please not call it consummation?"

"Why not?"

"Because it sounds too damn clinical. I don't want to picture you on a gurney, Bones. Plus—consummate comes from the Latin 'to finish.' We aren't finishing anything with this first night, Bones. We're just getting started."

Brennan didn't take her eyes off the road, but she looked suitably surprised, he noted with grim satisfaction.

"I'm impressed by your grasp of the word's etymology."

"Altar boy. Years of homilies. Remember?" he said with a sigh. "So how's it going to be different, Bones? Besides the fact that you actually waited months on end for the climax?" He made sarcastic air quotes around the last word, which he knew she'd used just to bug him.

"As fond as I was of Daniel and Sully, I was not in love with them. I've never been in love before. It would stand to reason that such a strong emotional attachment, even if precipitated by chemical reactions in the brain, would have a degree of impact on the experience."

Booth sagged back against the seat. There had to be a better way to describe her wild tangents than 'yo-yoing.' What she did with her random mood switches and conversational forays was more like 'sling-shotting.'

"I love you too, Bones. And, yeah. That's definitely gonna make a big difference."

Traffic ground to a halt again and Brennan turned toward him with a small smile. He couldn't resist leaning over and kissing her softly, deeply, sweetly, until the cars behind them honked impatiently.

Regretfully, she pulled away and continued driving, leaving his senses reeling. How the hell was he going to survive passionateBrennan, when tender Brennan just about drove him over the physical edge?

"So if we had engaged in intercourse immediately after meeting, you believe the experience would have been less intense than it will be tonight?" she asked.

And … slingshot, yet again.

"No. Maybe." Booth struggled to find a way to answer her question without outright denying the feelings he knew had been present between them from day one. "There's a connection between us, Bones. It's been there from the first day, whether or not you felt it. Maybe it wouldn't have been love making at that point. I don't know. But it still would've been different. When it's you and me, it's always different, Bones. Everything is. Always has been, always will be."

She was silent for a long time after that, clearly thinking over his words.

"So what else are you worried about?" he finally asked, knowing they had to clear the air before reaching Arizona, however crazy it drove him. "Besides disappointing me? Which is never gonna happen, Bones. By the way."

"Given that I'm a best-selling author and that my novels have a degree of romance to them, I've done significant research in the field."

"English?" he prompted, thinking he couldn't have understood that right.

"I've read quite a few standard romance novels in order to inform my craft," Brennan said a little stiffly.

"Dr. Brennan browsing in WalMart's pulp fiction aisle?" Booth grinned, hugely amused at the visual. "Damn, Bones. What if your squinterns heard about _that_, huh? I'd say that's ammunition for blackmail, baby."

"If you inform my interns of my solely research-based romance-reading, I will inform your FBI friends of our lingerie date," she said coolly.

Booth held up his hands instantly in surrender. He knew when he was beaten. "Okay, okay," he said hastily. "You win that one, for sure, Dr. Evil. So what do books with half-naked women fainting on white sands, into the arms of Fabio-lookalikes, have to do with anything?"

"I don't know Fabio."

"Never mind. Your worries, Bones?" he prompted wearily, noticing that the traffic was finally starting to speed up a little bit.

"In a very high percentage of the novels I've read, it seems that immediately upon consummation the woman becomes emotionally distraught. I'm confused by this pattern of behavior, but, given the high percentage of authors who use the device, it seems to be a societally accepted nuance."

"Wait, Bones." Booth frowned. "Are you saying—"

"If you are expecting me to follow such conventions following our first sexual encounter, you will be sorely disappointed, Booth."

He twisted around in his seat and glared daggers at her in disbelief as the full meaning of her words hit home. "Jesus, Bones. You just can't cut a guy any kind of a break, can you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion, accelerating as traffic sped up around them.

"Are you seriously saying that you think I'm expecting you to _cry _after making love with me?"

"I simply—"

"Jesus!" he cursed again, incensed at the implications. "First of all, Bones, by saying that you're suggesting that I actually read romance novels!"

"I—"

"And second of all—" He brought his fist down on the dashboard in frustration. "No, Bones. I am _not _expecting you to cry. How can you even ask that? That's just … it's wrong, Bones, dammit! You know me better than that! When have I ever _liked_ seeing you cry?" He subsided back against the window, shaking his head in disgust. "Crying after sex. Shit. Way to totally cheapen the experience, Dr. Brennan. Geez."

"You said sex," she pointed out.

"Because that's what you're describing!" he exploded. "The shit in those books—shit I only glanced through as a kid when I was looking for a rise, by the way—isn't love. If you cry, Bones, fine. You cry. If you don't, even better. But we're not scripting this whole evening—this whole relationship—based on a pulp novel's plot line! What you and I have is real. No way can you compare it to your 'research.'"

Brennan looked like she was about to reply, when both of their attentions were distracted by the sight on the shoulder of the road where multiple patrol cars, fire trucks and ambulances were clustered. The cause of the traffic hold-up was suddenly, gruesomely, apparent. Large pieces of rubber littered the highway, presumably from the bare steel rims of a red Dodge Ram that had suffered a major blowout. The Pick-up had flipped— multiple times, judging by the skid evidence and overall damage to the now upside down truck—but not before careening into a green Civic as it swerved in the immediate aftermath of the explosion. The smaller car had been crushed like a tin can and lay forlornly on its side, its mirrors sheared off, the windshield imploded.

All of this might have been par for the course for individuals as inured to violence and bodily harm as Booth and Brennan, had it not been for their simultaneous spotting of the remnants of what looked like a car seat that had apparently somehow been catapulted from the Civic's interior. Then there was the screaming coming from somewhere in the crowd of paramedics and policemen. The sound was keening, frantic in its despair, so loud that it carried over the noise of first-response teams assembled at the scene.

"_MY BABY!"_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan drove slowly and carefully past the wreck, avoiding pieces of fiber glass and other debris that threatened to take out her own tires if she drove over them at too high a speed. Beside her, Booth had gone heavily silent. She could feel the weight of their combined tension in the air of the Prius. The insignificance of their earlier argument was only further highlighted as an ambulance shrieked past them, bearing away one or more of the victims of the accident.

If it hadn't been for her certainty that driver's licenses and credit cards would help identify the fatalities, Brennan would have turned around and gone back to offer her help with identifying remains. In her mind, she reassembled the pieces of the cars as she would have done with a skeleton, but she kept coming back to the fact that she could never reassemble the lives of these particular individuals. Their remains, yes. With careful work, she could probably piece together whatever fragile remnants of bone were left in the wake of the brutal crash. With her team's help, she could identify the names of the people—give them faces, if such evidence was needed—and provide all the appropriate documentation so that the individuals could be legally identified before burial. But the lives the accident had, in all likelihood, claimed, no. Those were permanently erased, beyond the reach of anything Brennan's skilled hands could reassemble. And those who _had _survived the crash would forever bear its scars, some metaphorical, others very visible in their physical reality.

"Bones." Booth's voice, when he spoke after another fifteen minutes or so of silent driving on her part, was almost baritone in its depth. She knew how badly the thought of a child injured in the wreck had to have affected him. "Pull over."

Without argument, Brennan eased out of the now rapidly moving flow of traffic and into the emergency lane. She put the car in park and turned off the engine, feeling the coiled emotions of her partner threatening to detonate within the small interior of the Prius. Without a word, he pushed open his door and got out.

She opened her own door and was just getting out when Booth appeared on her side. His jaw was tightly clenched and his eyes were narrowed, but not so far that she couldn't see the emotions roiling within them. He extended his hand and she took it, pulling herself the rest of way out of the car. With her hip, she bumped the door shut, even as Booth's arms snaked around her waist and tightened, like steel bands.

Far from protesting, her own arms wrapped around his broad shoulders every bit as tightly. One hand slid up to tangle in his hair, urging his head closer to hers. She buried her head in his chest and pressed her body into his, needing the solid reassurance of the hard walls of his chest and the steady, _live _rhythm of his heart beating beneath his ribcage. It was hard to tell whether it was one or both of the partners who was shuddering as they stood intertwined, the vibrations of their bodies absorbing into one another's frames like gentle shock waves.

When Booth finally moved to pull back, Brennan blatantly refused to allow him even the smallest measure of space. She hooked one hand into the back of his belt and lifted her head. Crashing her lips into his, she used her iron grip on the back of his neck to further emphasize her demand. For one brief moment her eyes remained open as his mouth opened under hers, and she saw her frantic desire—her need for reassurance—her astonishingly raw _relief _reflected in his own face. Then his hands were on her cheeks, sliding into her hair, and her eyes closed as his tongue moved forward into the warm, volatile heat of her mouth.

"Bones." His words were a barely audible groan as they devoured each other, teeth colliding, tongues mating, hands flying across the surfaces of each other's bodies, skimming, groping, caressing, claiming every available inch of skin. "Bones."

She drank in her nickname on his lips, absorbing it even as she answered in kind. "Booth."

"Jesus, _Bones_." He widened his stance so that he could yank her into the cradle of his broad thighs. His mouth dropped to the pulse of her throat and encompassed it completely. She tilted her head back and slid headfirst into the sensations of the ferocious, drawing suction, branding her as his. When she could take no more, she pulled his head away and reciprocated at the underside of his jaw, raking her teeth across the tender skin in a parody of the way her nails were digging into the back of his skull.

"I love you."

One of them spoke the words, but it was hard to know who. It was all one blind, turbulent rush of emotions as they sought to erase the fear each had felt. The awareness that one day something similar could occur, finally severing the partnership that nothing else had managed to break.

"No." Booth growled the words. He pulled his mouth from hers, in spite of her immediate protest, and stared into her eyes. "That's never gonna happen to us, Bones. We're _never _gonna break."

"You don't know that," she protested, in spite of her innate desire to believe his words.

"I do." He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing shallowly. "I do know, Bones. God forbid something like that happens—I'm following you into the next world. And you damn well better be following me if I'm the one in the back of that ambulance. Or I'll come back and haunt you, Temperance Brennan. You understand?"

"No." Brennan shook her head in bewilderment. "Yes."

"Nothing is ever splitting us up, Bones. _Nothing_. Not Sully, not Heather Taffett, not death."

Then he was kissing her again, and there might have been tears somewhere in the mix but, again, who they belonged to was a moot point.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth snapped the phone shut. "Parker says 'hi,'" he told Brennan. "He's got a science fair project coming up and may be emailing you shortly to pick your brains. Just a warning."

"I'll be happy to be of assistance," she answered, "So long as he doesn't expect me to complete the assignment for him."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Booth frowned. "Parker's not a cheat, Bones. He does his own work."

"Booth, I wasn't implying that your son is dishonest. But I've assisted various members of the Jeffersonian's staff with their children's science fair projects and it seems to be something generally left to the last minute and then done poorly and in a panic."

"The project's due next month," Booth said coldly. "And he's already got half of it done. He just wanted your opinion on how things are coming, in case he needs to revise. If you don't wanna help him, Bones, just say so."

"I apologize for jumping to an erroneous conclusion, based on insufficient data," Brennan replied. "I appreciate that Parker has done his research prior to consulting an expert. I would enjoy reviewing his work."

"Yeah. Thanks, Bones," Booth muttered, still miffed. "Just be nice to him, okay? He's only looking for an opinion on whether or not he's headed in the right direction. He doesn't need his work torn to shreds by Dr. Brennan."

"Booth, I like Parker." She sounded hurt. "While I will be honest in my evaluation of his project, I have no intention of eviscerating his work."

"Thanks, Bones," he repeated, more sincerely this time. "Just remember he doesn't speak squint, and neither do the science fair judges, probably."

"I could volunteer to be on the panel," Brennan offered. "Zack's nephews and nieces asked me to be a guest judge at their schools on various occasions."

Booth wasn't sure whether he loved or hated that idea. Brennan offering advice via email was one thing. Brennan playing the role of judge for an entire class of underachieving middle schoolers, most of whom _would _have done the project at the last minute and with a great deal of help from Mom and Dad.

"I'll talk to Parker and see what he says. So when can we play that game, Bones? I'm bored. I should've guessed your version of a road trip wouldn't involve any rest stops."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "We stopped for an extended amount of time right outside of Albuquerque."

"That didn't count," he retorted, thinking privately to himself that it did count _very _much. So much that Week 6 had almost happened on the side of the road, until by some miraculous intervention, he'd managed to return just enough to his senses to put some space in between their bodies before the inevitable became … evitable?

"Fine." Brennan merged into the right hand lane. She exited the highway and pulled into the nearby parking lot of a Shell station, which seemed to double as a rest stop for truckers, if the wide backlot full of semis was anything to go on. "Get yourself whatever you want to eat or drink, so you don't complain about being hungry for the next hundred miles," she ordered, getting out of the car. "I'll be right back."

Booth could've argued with her about her distinctly mom-like comments, but decided he was interested enough in the game to keep his mouth shut at least a little longer. He hit the head, grabbed a hot dog and loaded up on bottled water and Cool Ranch Nachos, then settled back into the Prius, wondering what the hell was taking Brennan so long, and where she might have vanished to.

He was just starting to dig into the heavy-on-the-relish frank when a chorus of wolf whistles caught his attention. However much he was in love with his partner, Booth wasn't above being curious at what kind of looker might have sparked such a reaction. Angling sideways, he scanned the gas station for some sign of the usual skimpy-outfit-wearing, pneumatically-enhanced type that typically provoked such catcalls. But all he saw was one Temperance Brennan, striding across the parking lot confidently. That would've been enough to make Booth whistle on a good day. With what she was wearing—or not wearing—Booth completely missed his mouth with the hot dog and smeared ketchup all over his face.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was a little nervous. Not because all she was wearing was a long-tailed dress shirt she'd stolen from Booth's suitcase, the length of which barely skimmed her mid-thigh, or because the shirt was unbuttoned two thirds of the way. Brennan had no body issues.

Other women in the parking lot were wearing similarly revealing outfits, at any rate. As she bent over the pump, one woman's buttocks were all but falling out of the miniscule scrap of purple denim she'd tried to stuff them into. Another Shell station customer was wearing a tie-top slashed so low that her nipple ring, the metal bar of which could be clearly seen outlined through the thin fabric, was almost visible. There was no breeze, so in spite of being all but unbuttoned, Brennan's shirt remained relatively decently closed, with only a minimal amount of skin on display. Of course, if any wind _did _start blowing …

She was nervous because the look on Booth's face suggested she might have overstepped the line ever-so-slightly this time. He'd been holding a hot dog when she emerged from the restroom and started walking toward him, but it had vanished as she passed the first gas pump. She fervently hoped it wasn't on the floor of the car. The stench of processed meat would follow them for hours.

Booth's expression transitioned rapidly from shocked to lustful to outright outraged. Brennan was actually surprised he wasn't already out of the car and running toward her with a coat in his hand. By the time she passed the third pump, the shock had vanished sufficiently for him to reach for the handle of the door. She sped up the pace and rounded the back of the car before he had the chance to get further than halfway out. Just as he stood up completely, she slid into the surprisingly cool Prius seats and slammed her door shut.

Booth jumped back into the car and slammed his own door, then turned to glare at her wild-eyed. "Bones. What the hell?"

She put on her seatbelt and calmly started the engine. "The rules of the game are in the glove compartment."

"The rules of what game?" Booth hissed, clearly still enough in shock that he couldn't berate and/or curse too much yet.

Brennan maneuvered back onto the road with one hand, and tossed him her bra with the other, fully aware that it was still warm and that this was bound to set him off even more. He automatically caught what she threw at him, only belatedly realizing that it was the turquoise bra he'd helped her pick out very recently.

"Shit!" Booth glared from the scrap of lace to Brennan and back again. "What the hell—"

"The glove compartment," she repeated. "If you want to play, that is. You said you wanted to play, Booth."

"I don't even have a jacket to throw over you!" Booth howled in rage. "Jesus Christ, Temperance, every guy on the highway is going to go into cardiac arrest! Why not just take it _all_ off?"

"You're the one who suggested it's important to leave a little to the imagination," Brennan replied with a hidden smile. "Just read the rules, Booth."

Cussing much more than he typically did, Booth wrenched open the glove compartment at last and pulled out the folded set of instructions that she'd put together several nights back while he slept.

"_The goal of the game is to locate all 17 objects on the following list. For each object you find, I will close one button. Should you fail to discover all 17 objects before we arrive in Phoenix, it is likely that your FBI friends at the station will require some explanation as to why you are driving with a half-naked woman,"_ he read aloud. "Okay, first of all, you're not half-naked! You're all naked! Jesus, Bones! Are you even wearing any underwear? And second of all, this isn't a game!"

Having settled back into the flow of traffic on the highway, Brennan lifted her right hip slightly and tugged up the shirttail enough to reassure Booth that she was wearing the rest of the turquoise set.

"It would be unsanitary for me to drive fully nude. Not to mention uncomfortable. In all likelihood, the synthetic fabric of these seats would stick to my—"

"BONES!" he roared. "This isn't funny! Pull over! You could be arrested for indecency!"

"Are you certain?" Brennan asked mildly. "It's windy on the side of the highway, Booth. And it would take a while for me to get fully dressed."

"What'd I do to deserve this?" Booth demanded, talking to nobody.

"Does that mean I should keep driving? In spite of the danger of arrest?"

"Yes, dammit!" he snapped. "Keep driving! Just button the damn shirt!"

"The first clue is Apple," Brennan suggested. "If you find it, you'll be 16 buttons closer to having what you view as your alpha male territory removed from view."

"Ha! Yeah! Gee, thanks, Bones. Where the hell am I going to find an apple in the middle of I-40? Oh, look, there's a fruit stand on the road shoulder. Watermelon and roadkill for sale, wouldn't you know it. _Close your shirt! My_ shirt! The shirt! Shit!"

"I've traveled in countries where—"

"Don't give me that crap, Bones," he warned, "There is _no _country in the world where people drive naked. None!"

"You haven't been to every country, so that could be a false statement," Brennan pointed out practically. "Even in Albuquerque, there is a yearly nude bike ride, Booth. And, yes, it includes men."

She struggled not to laugh at the appalled look on his face. Apparently that image was even worse than her partial nudity while driving.

"You mean they—while they—and their—what if they fall off? What if they get sunburned? Thorns? Blisters?" Booth sputtered. "That's just wrong, Bones. All kindsa wrong, you hear me?"

"It would be hard not to hear you, Booth. You're shouting."

"Why are you doing this?" he fumed. "You honestly think this is funny, Bones?"

"I find the experience rather liberating," she said, nodding at a nearby driver who did a curious doubletake, not sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. "Admittedly, I would not be comfortable driving completely naked, in spite of my earlier teasing. But this partial state of undress is … erotic."

"Erotic?" Booth repeated. "You mean … you're turned on?"

"I'm aroused," she confirmed. "Your predictable reaction, however irritatingly alpha male, is also somewhat endearing, and that has, interestingly, caused an even further rise in the release of oxytocin hormones, one of the mammalian hormones that is produced upon orgasm."

"Shit," Booth muttered, covering his face with his hands. "Shit, shit, _shit_. Fine! I'll play your little game, Bones. But I'm warning you, there's major payback coming."

"Are you going to reciprocate by driving fully nude?" she asked curiously. "After all, many men drive shirtless."

From the corner of his eye, she saw his jaw clench.

"It'll be worse," he promised her, "Much worse, Temperance. You'll regret the day you played cards with Seeley Booth."

"You're referring to gambling, I presume. Are we gambling, Booth?"

"Oh, yes," he answered darkly, scanning the road around them. "We're gambling, Bones. And your beginner's luck ran out in Vegas. Apple!" He pointed at a passing Honda with a bumper sticker blaring, "Bite my Apple!" right beside another sticker that proclaimed, "If guys used tampons, they'd argue about whose was bigger."

"When juxtaposed with the other sticker, I believe that apple is a sexual reference, Booth. And it's not a pictorial depiction, as required by the game."

"The paper says find an apple." He snapped the note close to her face. "Either you do up a button, Bones, or I do."

"By all means," Brennan said with a smile, leaning back slightly in her seat. "My hands are on the wheel, so I could use some assistance."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Don't you just love playful Brennan? =)**

**Feedback for the last chapter was strongly polarized—some people loved it, some hated it. Either way, I really appreciate your taking the time to let me know. (It made me really happy that so many people liked the dance scene, and didn't think I went overboard on the cheese factor. =) I wish I had time to respond to everybody, but I'm treading water in order to stay afloat in school and in life, so these A/Ns are now serving the dual purpose of answering feedback and updating you on upcoming plot details. **

**Oh—in response to PM-d questions about what I teach, I'm an English, Social Studies and Spanish teacher for 6****th**** through 8****th**** grade. My 7****th**** and 8****th**** graders are amazing kids, the likes of which any teacher would be lucky to have. My 6****th**** graders are not, and they're the ones (along with their parents) making my life a living hell. So escaping into the world of Bones is my avenue of release for pent up stress. ;) Needless to say, all your reviews also play a huge role in making me feel better after long days spent trying to explain why 'pink' is **_**not a verb**_**, and that the U.S. has more than 26 states!**

**Coming in Ch. 63: Booth and Brennan interrogate their suspect, and fly off—in first, first, **_**first **_**class, courtesy of a very wealthy friend, if you catch my drift—to Booth's surprise destination for the first half of their break … (no, no physical fireworks yet. Those start in Ch. 65, per my amended posting schedule.)**


	63. Airborne

**Per my promised schedule, here is the next part of Ch. 62, which wound up being split into 62, 63 and 64.**

**Copious 'thank yous' go out to Eternal Destiny. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Her kind feedback and encouragement keeps me writing, even when I'm just barely dogpaddling in a sea of paperwork to grade. You should really visit her profile page, read a few of her wonderful stories, and then review and include a 'thank you' for your weekly updates for this story. She has played a ****huge**** role in keeping **_**Problem Solving **_**up and running, in spite of my psycho schedule.**

**Amilyn has also been a big part of the reason I'm still writing, so a big thank you goes out to her as well. **_**Distorted Views **_**deserves SO many more reviews—as do all of her fantastic one-shots-than it's gotten, so maybe wander over to her page, after reading this chapter? =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She'd been right about one thing, anyway. Booth wasn't at all bored anymore, nor did he whine about being thirsty or hungry. His entire attention was focused on scanning the road for items on Brennan's list. He'd done surprisingly well in a short amount of time, reducing the gaping buttons on her shirt to a mere seven.

"Jesus, Bones," he groaned, looking at the next thing on the list. "Could you get a little more random? Avocados?"

"There's no particular reason I placed certain items on the list. I simply considered objects that would prove challenging to find, but not impossible."

"Yeah—I'll debate the impossible with you later," Booth muttered, glaring out his window. "We're in the middle of nowheresville, Bones. I just saw a roadrunner. You couldn't have put _that _on the list?"

"Arizona is far from being a wasteland," she commented. "I look forward to showing you some of its beauty."

"Maybe after we've stopped showing the entire world yours," he retorted. "The guys around us are getting Christmas and New Year's all wrapped up in one. Shit. Where the hell is an avocado when you need one?"

"I presume you don't know the etymology of the fruit as well as you did that of 'consummation'?"

"Huh?" Booth didn't look at her as he responded in irritated, monotone fashion to her question.

"The word 'avocado' comes from the Aztec 'ahuacatl.'"

He made a noncommittal sound, presumably pretending he was even halfway listening to her.

"Their word meant testicle," Brennan continued.

Booth twisted around in his seat and glared at her. "No way. You just made that up, Bones."

"No," she assured him. "If you look at the fruit, the reason for its nomenclature becomes apparent."

"Thanks, Bones." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Thanks a whole lot. Now every time I eat guacamole, I'll see testicles on the plate. That's just great. And last time I checked, mine didn't look at all green."

She grinned. "The leathery peel is more in line with what the Aztecs were probably—"

"Okay, Bones, just stop," he warned. "Stop. Right now. My testicles do not look like avocados. Peeled, or unpeeled."

"I look forward to ascertaining the veracity of that statement shortly," Brennan replied, then pointed out the window. "You just missed a sign that said 'avocado' on it."

He jerked back around to his window. "What?"

"It was a Subway sign. 'Add avocado for $1.' That is extremely over-priced for what would likely be a very small serving."

"Shit!" Booth punched the dashboard.

"You need to stop hitting inanimate objects whenever you get frustrated," Brennan advised. "One day you'll fracture a phalange and it will prove quite painful, not to mention inconvenient."

"_Painful,_" he retorted, "Is watching your red-hot girlfriend wave hello to other drivers with something entirely other than her hand!"

"That joke was funny, Booth." Brennan couldn't contain the laughter at how completely frustrated he was. A wave of tenderness welled up within her at how deeply she cared for this over-protective man. "Would this be an appropriate time for me to remind you of my feelings?"

"If you tell me you love me right now, I'll hit something again," Booth said through clenched teeth. "Avocado!" He stabbed a finger in the direction of a billboard receding into the distance. "That billboard had a picture of an avocado on it!"

Brennan leaned back in her seat again and waited for him to do up the next button, a task which was proving torturous for both of them, as Booth let his fingers wander places they really shouldn't while she was driving, in order to exact revenge.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He was getting desperate. Their exit was only a few miles away, and there were still three buttons—critically placed buttons—to go on Brennan's shirt. He wouldn't put it past her to saunter into the Arizona detention center with the plackets of her shirt still gaping wide and pretty much nothing else on underneath.

"This isn't fair!" he complained. "There aren't any waterfalls in Arizona, Bones. There isn't any _water_. We're surrounded by sand! How am I supposed to find this word?"

Brennan shrugged. "You said the same thing about wallet and perfume and managed to locate them anyway."

Oh, he was going to get her for this, Booth promised himself. After making love to her, of course. More than a few times. She'd regret playing cards with a degenerate gambler, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Inspiration struck and Booth reached into the backseat and rummaged around until he found the Atlas that the Prius had come with. Flipping through the pages, he quickly located a photograph of waterfalls in Colorado and held it up for Brennan's inspection.

"Tada! Waterfall," he said smugly. "And don't go telling me it's not in the rules, Bones. They don't say anything about the pictures having to be outside the car."

Brennan merged into the exit lane. "I accept the photograph as evidence of item 15. You should call the detention center and let them know we'll be arriving shortly, and apologize for the lateness."

"We're only an hour late," Booth answered, "And I called them when you stopped to refuel a couple hours ago." An ordeal which he had no desire to remember—what with Brennan wandering around the blessed Exxon station with 13 buttons still wide open. The teenage cashier had looked so awestruck that Booth had taken pity on him and didn't knock out his brace-covered front teeth when the kid stared directly at his partner's exposed chest. Who could blame him?

He'd been less kindly inclined toward a burly trucker-type who let his appreciate eyes roam over Brennan one too many times. If Brennan hadn't all but dragged him from the store, Booth would have gotten into his first ever gas station fistfight, for sure.

Then there was the visual of Brennan pumping gas in nothing but his shirt … Booth frantically chased away that image and scanned the road for the next item—a Saguaro cactus. That one, at least, was easy.

"There." Booth pointed at a towering cactus in bloom at the side of the road. "Saguaro."

"That item would have proved more difficult had you been required to locate it several hours back," Brennan pointed out.

"Yeah, well, just your luck, Bones," he answered smugly, leaning over. "I'm just that good, baby."

Carefully, he slid the next-to-last button into place, deliberately grazing his knuckles over her bra-less breasts in the process and enjoying her reflexive gasp. He would have lingered longer, but their destination was getting closer and closer and he wasn't at all sure he'd be able to find **parrot** near as easily as he'd found Saguaro. Satisfied that his partner was almost all the way covered, he sat back and resumed looking out the window.

"Seriously, Bones. How'd you come up with this list? Did you just randomly flip through a dictionary or something?"

"More or less," she admitted. "Perhaps I should have been more methodical in my planning, but the idea struck me late at night and I didn't overthink things."

She _would _decide to finally take his advice when it came to something like this, Booth groaned inwardly.

"I had other games planned, in case this one went too quickly," Brennan added.

Booth's insides flipped alarmingly. "More games?" he repeated. "Like this one?"

"Perhaps our next road trip?" she suggested, smiling innocently.

"Not until we've played _my _game, Dr. Brennan." He had no idea what his revenge would entail, but it would be very, very sweet. Of that he was sure.

Brennan exited the highway and turned right. "I believe we are now approximately 15 minutes from our destination."

_Shit._

"Bones, where the hell were you expecting me to find a parrot?" He craned his neck around in the vain hope of seeing an exotic tropical bird floating on a thermal in the middle of downtown Phoenix. "That's just completely unfair."

"I was wrong. Our destination is much closer than expected, Booth." Brennan indicated the large gray and red building rapidly approaching. "That's the detention center."

Booth grabbed the atlas again.

"I doubt you'll find a parrot in there, Booth."

He pulled a pen from his pocket and sketched a crude drawing on the margins of one of the maps, then waved it under Brennan's nose. "Parrot!" he announced. "There's your damn parrot, Bones."

Before she could complain that he was cheating, he reached across and closed that last button. With a muted sigh of relief, he sank back into his seat just as she pulled into the parking lot of the detention center.

"I'm still not wearing any pants," Brennan pointed out unnecessarily as she killed the engine. "That would have required two more items, Booth."

"You said those were bonus items," he said firmly. "Don't even think about arguing that one with me, Bones." He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to her. "Wrap that around your waist. We'll tell them you spilled coffee and need to use the bathroom to change into some clean clothes. And you can put the bra back on while you're at it."

"You want me to lie to police officers?" Brennan asked.

"I'll arrest you later," Booth replied tersely, cramming her bra into the pocket of the jacket. "Let's go, Dr. Brennan. There's a bathroom stall with your name on it."

"I seriously doubt that will be the case, Booth."

He admirably resisted the urge to swat her cute, almost bare behind in the middle of an Arizona parking lot as they made their way inside.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan stood outside the one-way glass window of the interrogation room, taking in the hostile demeanor of their murder suspect.

Jessica Kensington wasn't officially in prison—she was only being detained at present—so she wore street clothes. A stained blue T-shirt bore the faded emblem of some musical group or other, partially obscured by her tangled, waist-length black hair. Pink flip-flops on her feet exposed short, stubby metatarsals, their nails painted in chipped fuschia. Badly torn jeans, with flaps gaping in the region of the tibia, revealed knobby knees with prominent scars that suggested some form of long-term activity with considerable impact on the patellas, such as gardening.

Brennan didn't want to think of this woman as doing something as peaceful and wholesome as gardening. Even though they had yet to speak to her, or confirm her guilt, everything in Brennan's subconscious rebelled at the notion that this _might _be the person who had cruelly murdered multiple children under the guise of mothering them.

Booth stepped back into the small room, after an extended conversation with the local precinct's sergeant. He knew Brennan well—and she knew that he would be immediately aware of what her thoughts were, whether or not she tried to hide them from him.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, closing the door behind them to secure some privacy.

"I'm not certain I can participate in this interrogation, Booth." The admission of such weakness cost her dearly. She turned away from him and poured herself a cup of coffee from the small stand in the corner of the room.

"Hey." Booth came over to her. "You don't wanna drink that, Bones." He extracted the paper cup from her grasp and set it aside, without letting go of her hand. "It's probably been sitting there since 7:00 am. Your rat shit beans would taste better at this point."

She pulled free and moved back to the window, staring at Kensington's hunched, pacing frame. The woman wasn't particularly overweight or tall, but her presence—even through the glass—irrationally seemed to carry an addition 100 pounds, plus several inches.

"You don't have to go in there with me if you don't want to," Booth said perceptively, allowing her her space.

"We came all this way to interrogate her as a team." Brennan pressed her hands to the glass, even though she knew that was generally not a well-looked-upon behavior. "I should be able to compartmentalize my personal history from my work."

Booth's voice was firm. "Not when it's history _that _personal, Bones. It's only human to have some things you just can't cope with. That doesn't make you weak."

"I want to go in there," Brennan insisted. "But what if I melt down …"

"Like with Laura Alvarez," he finished for her. "You won't, Bones. If you feel like you need a moment, you just step outside. Or you could watch from here for a while, and then join me when you feel more up to it."

"I don't like this side of me, Booth." She rested her head against the concrete window sill, flinching when Kensington's pale blue eyes suddenly came to rest directly in line with her own. She knew the woman couldn't see her, but Brennan suddenly felt as though she was being observed. Tracked. Targeted. "I require better self control from myself. This emotional frailty is unacceptable."

"Give yourself a break, Bones," he urged, stepping close enough to touch her shoulder lightly and then retracting his hand again. "You're coping better than most people ever would, given the circumstances."

She wanted to step closer—to allow him to comfort her with his able words and strong embrace—but that was not behavior she could condone when there was work to be accomplished.

"Bones …" he spoke hesitantly. "Our flight leaves in a couple hours. I really don't wanna rush you, but we need to interrogate Kensington soon. Or we could change our flight, I guess—"

"No." Brennan's reaction to his suggestion was immediate. She shook her head and met his eyes at last, finding confusion and compassion in their dark depths, but no pity. Here, for a change, she saw that he was the one uncertain about what the right thing to do or say might be. "I don't want to delay Week 6 any further, Booth. And the center can't continue to hold Kensington indefinitely. Let's go talk to her."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth watched his partner almost as closely as he was watching their suspect. As soon as they'd entered the interrogation room and confronted Kensington's baleful glare, Brennan had gone into full, defensive squint-mode. Her spine was ramrod straight, and her hands clasped the edge of the table until her knuckles were almost white. Her face was arranged into a typically blank, scientific expression and her eyes betrayed no outward signs of emotion as she stared down Kensington. The only sign of vulnerability was her unconscious chewing of her lower lip. He had the urge to reach over and touch her cheek, smoothing away the pallor and tension, but knew she'd rather die than have him be so intimate with her in front of a suspect.

He suddenly knew how Sweets must feel when he sat there waiting for somebody to say something, anything, in order for their session to begin. Booth wasn't altogether certain he should be the one to speak first, but somebody had to say _something_, dammit. Since their stilted introductions 15 minutes ago, he'd gone with his gut and said nothing, although that definitely wasn't the typical way to start an interrogation.

"What do you people want?" Kensington's coarse, slightly nasal voice shattered the silence at last. "I been here a week and ain't never even seen a lawya. I got my rights. I ain't stupid or shit you know, whatever ya think."

"You were given the number of several court-appointed pro-bono attorneys, Ms. Kensington, and were allowed ample time to make a phone call. Time I'm told you spent painting your nails instead," Booth said coolly.

"I didn' want one of _them_," she muttered scornfully. "I got my own lawya. They wouldn' lemme call 'im."

"The man you wanted to call is not legally licensed to practice law." Booth stifled a sigh. "All your legal rights have been preserved, Ms. Kensington. So why don't we stop playing games and cut to the chase. What do you know about Maria Rose Sanchez, Jessica Capshaw, Maureen Lanette Kennedy and Sebastian Fitzgerald?"

"Ain' never heard of the last three," Kensington said, pausing for a long, hacking smoker's cough before continuing, "The firs'—she was my baby. I took care of her for a coupla years. Then the state took 'er away. Said I wasn't a fit foster mudder. They din know _shit_," she scowled. "I was a good mama. Got her purty clothes and took her to school and doctor's appointmen's and stuff. She was always gettin' sick, Rosie was. Colds, pneumony, broken arms—"

"How did she sustain the fractures?" Brennan spoke unexpectedly.

"She really liked climbing trees, but she also liked to fall out of them," Kensington answered, her nasal tone vanishing for a brief moment, then returning in full force, "I tried to git 'er to mind, but she was always up in a tree the day after bein' in the hospital. Even widda cast. Bout drove me crazed."

"Frequent colds are a sign of a compromised immune system, potentially due to malnourishment or mistreatment."

"You sayin' I starved my Rosie?" Kensington demanded, half-standing from her chair.

"Sit down," Booth warned her, one hand reaching under the table for his sidearm automatically.

The woman subsided back into her chair, glaring at them both with angry, darting eyes the color of ice at the bottom of a lake. "I din' ever hurt Rosie or feed her wrong."

"Her remains point to a high degree of vitamin deficiencies, indicative of starvation," Brennan shot back.

Kensington shrugged. "She din' like to eat much. I couldn' force 'er."

Booth stepped into the highly charged conversation. "Why did the state take Rosie from you, Ms. Kensington?"

Her eyes dropped to the table in front of them, where she picked at a small groove with a long fingernail. "Said I wadn' feedin' her right. Said she had bruises. I _tol' 'em _she din' mind."

He switched tactics. "When was the last time you saw Rosie?"

She shrugged again, hunching her thin shoulders up to her ears and down again. "Day they came and took 'er. Rosie screamed bloody murder. She din' wanna go." Her tone grew increasingly defiant. "Rosie _loved _me."

"There's no record of the state ever stepping in to take a child from your care," Booth informed her. "Maria Rose Sanchez was legally appointed to you on—"

"That wasn't her name!" Kensington shoved backwards from the table, all the way to the wall. "Her name was Rosie. Rosie Kensington. She wadn no spic."

Booth nudged Brennan's arm warningly, knowing she was about to ask about the racial slur. They didn't need to go down that path. Not yet, anyway.

"She was legally appointed your ward on Dec 17th, 2003 by a court in Utah. Records indicate that she remained in your care through 2004. Then there is no further paperwork or evidence of Rosie's presence in your life, Ms. Kensington, even as you were packing up to leave Utah. Where was Rosie at that point?"

"I tol' you. The state took 'er," Kensington repeated. "I moved away 'cause I din wanna face the memries of my Rosie."

"Excuse me." Brennan stood abruptly and exited the room.

Booth got up and nodded at Kensington. "We're not through here. When we get back, you might want to try being a little more truthful, Ms. Kensington, or I'll have charges filed against you for obstructing a federal investigation."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He stepped out of the interrogation chamber and into the observation room where Brennan was standing, her back turned to him. He knew she probably didn't want to be touched or even seen at this point, but that didn't stop him from taking at least a few steps closer to her, in case she changed her mind.

"The child had all the classic signs of abuse!" Brennan exploded, whirling toward him. The anguish on her face made his gut clench. "She was starved. Beaten. Broken. Broken, Booth. That little girl was broken from the inside out. I counted 13 different remodeled fractures on her skeleton, along with three still healing at the time of her death. All the signs were there—the hospitals should have caught it!"

He stood silently, wishing he knew what to say to make something so terrible even marginally more bearable.

"Go back in there," she ordered, pointing at the room. "I'll listen out here and may rejoin you shortly. Get her, Booth. Use your gut, your brain, everything. Her expression … it's just like my foster fathers'. She thinks she's untouchable, just as she thought the child was expendable. Maria Rose was just a welfare check for her. The money for the food that little girl should have been getting more than likely went to some form of illegal recreation. She did it. I have no empirical evidence, but I _know_ she did it."

The statement was utterly atypical for Brennan, and Booth bought it completely. "I agree, Bones. She's got guilty written all over. We'll get her," he promised. "We'll get some kind of justice for those children."

"They're dead, Booth. There is no justice for them anymore, just like there wasn't in life. Just … lock her up. Keep her from hurting anymore innocents. Please."

"We'll get her," he repeated. "She's not going to hurt anymore foster kids, Bones. I promise."

Brennan nodded, her blue eyes, such a different color from the ice-cold blue depths of the killer's eyes, damp. "I believe you, Booth. Go."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They had her on the murder charges of Maria Rose. Of that much, Brennan was positive. The little girl had vanished while under her care. The last sighting of the child had been when Kensington picked her up at school and drove away in a car school staff described as 'unfamiliar.' Because Maria was frequently absent, the school didn't call in the police until several days had gone by and the girl didn't show up at school, and no one answered the calls asking where she was. Those few days were enough for Kensington to commit the murder and leave the state.

All their evidence was circumstantial—not the kind Brennan cared for in the slightest—but she was confident that, upon her return from vacation, she and the Jeffersonian team could unearth further concrete evidence, sufficient to lock the woman away on at least one murder charge.

Brennan watched through the window, with the mic temporarily turned off, as Booth pressed the woman for information on the other three children. She chose not to listen in on the conversation in order to better study the kinesiology of the woman, as well as her facial features. Her keen eyes had already detected various surgical changes made to Kensington's face. She'd had her nose and chin reshaped, and looked like she might also have cheek implants. All the better to disguise herself as she moved from state to state.

It was unavoidable that Brennan would also watch Booth. She rarely stepped back and simply watched him do what he did best. And he truly excelled at interrogation. In spite of her sadness at the lost lives of the children, it was almost a pleasure to watch her partner's facial expressions transition smoothly from angry to charming-get-whatever-I-want-agent to halfway sympathetic and back to angry and insistent again.

He talked with his hands almost as much as he did with his mouth, alternately waving them, punching them, gesturing at thin air to make his points emphatically. Mostly he sat back in a chair as he grilled the woman, but occasionally he'd stand and pace the room. Brennan could see that he used this as a tactic to get close enough to the suspect to intimidate, but not so near that she would complain.

He was an intensely attractive man in all respects, but Brennan found him particularly appealing at this moment, as he aggressively backed the woman into corner after corner, forcing her to admit to her crimes through skillful manipulation of the conversation. Even when Brennan wasn't listening, she could tell when the woman slipped up and admitted to something unintentionally. She could see it in the suspect's momentarily dismayed face, and in Booth's entire posture. His shoulders—shoulders she suspected would need a massage after the tension of the day—would relax for a brief moment as he zeroed in on a revelation, then tense up again as he moved forward.

Brennan was coming to realize that she loved him at all times, but differently depending on each situation. In this moment, she loved him for being so good at this part of his job, and for caring so deeply about the lost lives of four children few other people had even realized existed during their brief time on Earth. She loved him for refusing to back down, even when the suspect stonewalled him, and for the sympathy that occasionally crossed his face. He somehow managed to find a hint of compassion for the cold-blooded killer, perhaps as he carefully extracted details of her own painful past. He wouldn't excuse the woman for her crimes, but he found it within himself to feel some form of pity. That touched Brennan at a level she wasn't even aware existed.

She knew the moment Kensington caved in, long before Booth cuffed her, escorted her into the back to be processed into the criminal system, and returned with an exhausted, satisfied look on his face to the room where Brennan was waiting

"We got her, Bones. She came clean about all four kids."

Later, she would press him for details. How had she evaded the system? Where had each child finally died? Could he lead her to the exact location, so she could search for evidence? Had the children been alone or together when she killed them? Had they suffered? These were questions that were of vital interest to a former foster child. She could only hope the victims' final moments had been swift and relatively painless, perhaps spent in the company of another of the children. Why had she buried them in President's Park? And how had he finally persuaded her to confess? For now, however, Brennan's only interest was in her partner.

He leaned against the door wearily, clearly drained as much as he was elated by his success. She moved to his side and put her arms around him. His own arms closed about her and they held each other for a long minute.

"Thank you, Booth."

"Hey, you're a part of this too. If you hadn't come up with the idea to have Angela compile all those pictures into one, we might never have found our killer." 

She accepted his compliment wordlessly and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. "We should leave for the airport soon."

Booth's tired smile spoke volumes. He kissed her lightly and guided her toward the door. "Week 6, here we come."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He'd debated ad nauseum how he could get her to their ultimate destination while preserving the element of surprise to the nth degree. He really didn't need an airport loud speaker or electronic board giving him away. In the end, Hodgins had supplied the answer. Booth had made mental notes to himself to get some kind of gift for both the entomologist and his wife. They had played a vital role in getting the partners to this place and time.

"A private plane?" Brennan stared at the aircraft parked on the tarmac opposite Phoenix's main airport.

"Hodgins' plane," Booth confirmed, grinning widely. "His minions are going to take care of our bags and everything, Bones. We just climb onboard and relax until we get there."

"Get where?" she asked, still eyeing the large plane in amazement. "This is obscenely extravagant, Booth. Why don't we just fly commercial?"

"Because that's what everybody does," he answered, taking her hand and leading her forward. "And I wanted this whole week to be different, Bones, from the very outset. Plus, you've gotta be tired from all that driving, and I'm a little beat myself. This way we can really relax and get back in shape before tonight. You'll need all your energy." He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

"I could relax on a regular plane," Brennan objected, as they started up the gangway.

"We're not the only passengers, if you're worried about fuel economy," Booth explained. "We're definitely going to _feel _like the only passengers, but this is just a pit stop for the company jet. We're kind of stowaways, courtesy of the Big Cheese."

"Cheese?" she repeated in confusion.

"The big boss, Bones," he translated patiently. "Hodgins. He's got more money than God. He can afford to stash us on one of his corporate jets if he wants to."

"I'm certain that if God existed—which he does not—that he would not have money." Brennan continued to complain, even as Booth inched her closer and closer to the door. When they finally stepped off the stairs and into the luxurious jet, he was glad that few people were on board yet. The interior of the plane was nice, for sure, from the large-screen TVs, laptops and plush blankets placed on each seat, to the video game consoles and no-holds-barred dining area, complete with a polished wooden table and leather banquettes.

"I don't see the need for any of this," Brennan insisted as Booth whisked her down the aisle, toward the back. "Why would a corporation require video games?"

"I don't know, Bones," he sighed, "Maybe CEOs get stressed out and occasionally need a break too, in spite of their massive paychecks?"

He stopped at the wood-paneled door that separated their room from the main cabin, and unlocked it with the special key Hodgins had given him. The door swung inward automatically and Booth nudged Brennan inside, stepping into the room behind her and closing the door.

He enjoyed seeing the amazed expression on her face as she took in the large bed on the right side of the plush-carpeted room. Three small windows gave the bed's occupants a view of the friendly skies. A suede couch on the opposite side of the room exactly matched the color of the russet comforter, adjacent to a dresser and sizeable closet. In the far corner of the room, the door to a small bathroom was ajar, giving them glimpses of the blue-tiled bathtub and shower within.

"C'mon, Bones." He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "It's not my fault some head honcho had this baby built. We'll never fly in one again, if it bothers you that much. Just this once … let's enjoy pretending we're rich."

"I _am_ rich," she corrected. "But I would never squander my money this way."

"And that's why you're gonna _stay _rich, long after these guys are broke," Booth answered, turning her to face him. "So you're really saying no to a good few hours sleep, and a hot bath?" He pulled a sad face, deliberately teasing her by pretending he could actually manipulate her into changing her mind about anything.

"Just this once?" Brennan glanced around the room again, eyes flicking longingly over the sumptuous-looking bed.

"I was kinda hoping we could fly back the same way," Booth admitted. "The mile high club would be fun to join, Bones, and I'd really rather do it this way than in a bathroom …"

Finally, she smiled. "I like that idea." She kicked off her sandals, one by one, and sank her bare toes into the carpet with a sigh of pleasure. "So long as we're not the only ones on the plane."

"Definitely not," he promised, hiding his relief. He would've hated to have to race over to the airport and try and get last minute tickets to the middle of nowhere while juggling all of Brennan's considerable luggage.

A discreet knock at the door interrupted Booth before he could initiate a celebratory kiss with Brennan. Disappointed, he stepped away from her and nodded in the direction of the bathroom.

"I'll get that. Maybe you want to freshen up or something after that dusty drive?"

As she went one way, carrying the bag of clothes he'd made her bring just in case things went awry—he was taking _no _chances at having another publically naked Brennan on his hands—he headed toward the door of their room. The poor steward on the receiving end of his irritated glare visibly shrank behind the bucket of champagne and plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Hodgins," the man squeaked, annoying Booth even more. He had definite views on what men should and shouldn't do, and squeaking definitely fell into the latter category.

"Thanks," he said curtly, taking both items and noticing the note in Angela's distinctive handwriting attached to the plate of fruit. "Any chance you can avoid disturbing us for the rest of the flight? Dr. Brennan and I are going to be occupied."

The young steward turned crimson all the way to the roots of his white-blond hair. "We generally do routine safety checks before the airplane departs—"

"I'll make sure we're strapped in for takeoff and landing." Booth forked over a tip and then shut the door firmly.

He carried the bucket and plate over to the dresser and set them down, then removed the note and tore open the envelope. He extracted a folded note written on cream-colored, textured stationery.

**Dear Booth and Brennan,**

**Get good and drunk and keep the other passengers from sleeping with your loud carousing.**

**Have lots of fun and even more SEX! We're so happy for both of you.**

**Love,**

**Hodgins and Angela**

**PS: It's about damn time.**

**PPS: No, we've never used the corporate jet for the horizontal mambo. Hodgins is planning on remedying that soon. So you can have at it without getting all squeamish, Mr. G-Man. There are no ghosts of previous trysts to haunt the bed.**

Booth blanched slightly. Perhaps foolishly, it hadn't even occurred to him that Hodgins might have beaten him to the punch, even though it was his jet. He was definitely relieved, and glanced around the room warily for a moment, not entirely certain that Angela wasn't hidden somewhere inside, just waiting for him to pounce on Brennan when she emerged from the bathroom.

Not that he planned to. If metereological conditions held up, Booth had a very definite idea of when and where their first time would happen, and it wasn't at the back of a private jet with half a dozen Fortune 500 execs sitting just a few meters away.

He lifted the chilled bottle off the ice and read the label.

_**Krug**_

_**Clos du Mesnil 2005**_

He was unfamiliar with the brand, or the embossed red logo in the shape of some kind of shield. Hearing the door to the bathroom open, he turned and greeted his partner with the bottle. "Hey, Bones. You ever heard of Close do Mesnil?"

Dressed in snug jeans and a simple black tee, paired with the heart he had given her, Brennan came over to his side and peered at the bottle. Her eyes widened and she took the champagne from his hands carefully.

"It's pronounced Cl**oh **dyoo Mesnil, Booth. Please tell me you didn't purchase this."

"I didn't," he answered uncertainly, watching as she handled the bottle with kid gloves. "Why?"

"This bottle of champagne probably cost at least $750," she told him.

Booth sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly weak-kneed. "Seven-hundred and fifty _dollars_?"

"As opposed to pesos?" Brennan asked wryly. "Yes. Where did it come from?"

"Hodgins and Angela." Booth stared at the green bottle like it contained snake venom. "And I was just gonna pop the cork like it was some $25 dollar bottle of throwaway booze … Jesus."

"The manner in which you open the bottle shouldn't be different because of the price tag," Brennan pointed out practically. "And if it came from Hodgins, I don't mind the expense. He can certainly afford such a luxury, though I doubt he indulges frequently."

"A guy who spends his life digging through maggot shit and fly larvae gave me champagne worth almost a grand." Booth leaned back against a pillow and threw an arm over his eyes. "I amdefinitel_y_ in the wrong profession."

A pop alerted him to the fact that Brennan had uncorked the precious vintage and he scrambled upright, watching to make sure that she didn't spill a drop as she decanted it into two cut crystal goblets included in the bucket. She handed him one and he eyed its fizzing amber contents uncertainly.

"I don't know if I can drink anything this expensive, Bones. It feels weird."

"The taste will not be compromised by the price. However, I believe Angela's intention would have been for us to toast something before imbibing." She held up her glass. "What are we toasting, Booth?"

He stood up, careful not to slosh any of his champagne. "To us," he suggested, raising his glass to hers.

She clinked glasses with him and they drank. Booth swished the alcohol experimentally around in his mouth.

"It's good," he admitted, holding up his glass again. "To Week 6."

"To Week 6," Brennan agreed. "To sex."

"To making love," he countered.

Brennan smiled. "To breaking the laws of physics."

"To breaking the bed." Booth grinned.

They worked their way through a large portion of the bottle in similar fashion, growing increasingly giddy given that neither of them had eaten much throughout the day.

At some point, Brennan crawled onto the bed and pulled Booth down beside her. "You're in exactly the right profession, Booth. Your performance in the interrogation room today was outstanding."

"Thanks, Bones." He fed her a strawberry and tugged her head down for a gentle kiss, tinted with effervescent bubbles and a hint of sweet fruit and champagne. "You taste damn good," he growled, putting his glass on the nearby dresser and taking hers from her fingers. He caught her by the waist and tugged her on top of him, sealing his mouth over hers and discovering that alcohol definitely had way more punch when tasted directly from Brennan's lips. She'd just started to really respond to him when an ominous **ping **made Booth's body tense.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts for departure."

"Shit." Booth let his head fall back to the pillow with a frustrated oath. "This isn't exactly going the way I planned things."

"Why not?" Brennan asked, rolling away and heading for one of the two jumpseats beside the bathroom door. She buckled herself in and waited for him to join her, which he did, albeit grudgingly.

"We keep getting interrupted," he complained. "And nothing I can dream up is going to compete with $750 champagne!"

"The interruptions should stop once we're airborne," Brennan said, reaching over to make sure he'd fastened his belt tightly. "And I don't require expensive alcohol to arouse me, Booth. As our experiment has clearly proved, you are sufficient to stimulate my libido."

"That just sounds bad," he muttered, not in the least mollified. "Can't you at least say it a little nicer, Bones?"

The whine of the jet's engines forced her to speak louder than usual. She took his hand and smiled as she half-yelled, "**I want to have sex with you very soon! This waiting has only increased my desire to consummate our relationship. Is that nice enough?" **

He prayed fervently that the rest of the plane hadn't heard her 'nice' words. "A few more hours, Bones, and I'll be making up that four month delay in Seeley style."

Okay, so that sounded a little drunk. Because he was. Just a little. More on Brennan than on alcohol, probably. She shifted slightly in her seat and pulled his head down to hers. By the time the jet lifted into the air, Booth's body and brain had already been flying for several minutes.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**I got a few rather vicious PMs regarding IC/OOC behavior in the last few chapters, and, frankly, they leave me wanting not to post anymore. I'm all for constructive criticism, but am hurt and frustrated at some people's lack of tact, when my feeling is that I'm trying really hard to give people something nice to read each week, only to be met by rotten tomatoes. My brain is scattered in 9 different directions, so, yeah, maybe I messed up on a canon detail or two. About all I can say is: Sorry. At least I'm still posting, right? **

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed 62 and who were kind enough to a) say something nice about the chapter and b) cut me some slack on the occasional goof-up. You're a large part of the reason I'm planning on finishing the story. **

**Preview of 64: An unusual dining experience and another road trip (of sorts) lead us to the doorstep of Booth and Brennan's ultimate destination. **


	64. Sapphire

**A/N: My post-narrative A/N contains spoilers for tonight's season premiere, so please do not read if you haven't watched it yet.**

**Thank you so, ****so**** much to all the readers who left such kind words of encouragement in the wake of the nasty PMs I received. Your feedback continues to mean a great deal to me. And I'm very glad so many of you liked the car game which, no, to answer several reviews, I have never played. =)**

**Thanks as always to Eternal Destiny for her wonderful beta work. There will be another fantastic chapter to **_**Conclusion **_**posted soon, so watch for it!**

**I can't fit this song into a musical valentine, so I'll lay it out here as the soundtrack for the chapter. I figure it's what Brennan is probably thinking, as Booth continues to tease her with promises of 'tonight …' **_**"Why Must We Wait Until Tonight,"**_** Tina Turner. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They'd been in the air for close to an hour and were enjoying the last of the champagne and strawberries when Brennan made a casual observation.

"Your back is bothering you."

"How could you possibly know that, Bones?" Booth asked in surprise. "I'm pinned under you. It's not like I've been doing much moving."

Brennan grinned. She'd made sure that his range of motion was severely limited, taking full advantage of the strong effect the alcohol had had on her partner to torment him in new and delightful ways. If she couldn't be in control tonight, she could definitely compensate in the interim.

"When I pinned your hands above your head, your facial expression definitely registered pain, and I felt a muscular spasm that was likely more painful than passionate."

"I 'registered' pain because you went at me tooth and nail. What happened to being a vegetarian?"

"As I believe I mentioned before, your physique occasionally inspires me to consider giving up a healthy lifestyle in favor of becoming a carnivore, so long as my diet of meat is based solely on your skin." She knew her words would drive him crazy and wriggled over top of him deliberately, enjoying his groans. "Furthermore, it seemed that you were enjoying being consumed, Agent Booth. You didn't protest."

"Oh, it was enjoyable," he agreed, waving his now freed hands. "No doubt about that. You haven't forgotten how to use your canines, Dr. Evil. But you're right. My back is kind of out of whack again."

"Roll over and I'll give you a massage," Brennan ordered, climbing off of him.

"I don't know," Booth said doubtfully. "Last massage you gave me, Week 6 came _this _close to happening."

"I'll be good." She prodded at his lumbar region. "You need to be in excellent shape for tonight, Booth. How can we break the laws of physics if you're physically impaired?"

With a grunt, Booth rolled over onto his stomach. "I'm not taking my shirt off," he warned, his voice muffled by the comforter. "Just so you know."

"Do you not have any concerns?" Brennan asked, starting with long, smooth strokes up the center of his spinal column.

"About tonight? Like, what kind?" He exhaled forcefully as she hit a particularly tender spot. "Yeah. Right there, Bones. Oh, yeahhhh, you are so good …."

She dug her fingers into the knot, working away the rigidity by moving her fingertips in small, even circles. "We've built this moment up almost absurdly, Booth. I'm not certain I can live up to expectations, in spite of your reassurances to the contrary. Do you have any similar worries?"

He was silent beneath her for a long time. So long that Brennan started to worry she'd offended him.

"I don't have any concerns about your performance," she added belatedly, kneading the tight muscles of his deltoids. "That's not what I was intending to imply. I'm sure you will prove a more than adequate sexual partner, Booth, just as you are an above average work partner."

"Thanks, Bones." His voice sounded more amused than annoyed, to her relief. "Of course I'm a little worried. I want this night to be amazing for both of us, but mostly for you. I don't ever want you to forget it."

"I won't," she assured him. "Regardless of what happens between us sexually." She used her knuckles to reach the most sensitive, knotted points of his trapezius. Booth groaned his approval before answering.

"Ah, Bones. It'll be good between us. Great. It has to be, because we're great together. But, yeah, obviously I'm a little nervous."

Even though she'd asked the question, now she was curious. "Why?"

Booth flipped her unexpectedly, so she was underneath him.

"I wasn't finished with your massage," Brennan protested mildly, although she couldn't be too upset with all that lean muscle pressed so close.

He regarded her with intense, narrowed brown eyes. "Because any red-blooded guy would be worried, Bones. You're the most beautiful woman on the planet, and if I don't make the earth move for you, I don't deserve to be the lucky man who gets to wake up next to you for the next fifty years. And don't tell me you don't know what that means, because I know you do." He grasped her upper arms and slid her forward until her head was just above his. "Because I want to prove my point about the difference between love making and sex. Because I want it to be so good between us that you see constellations, instead of just stars."

Heat flared in the pit of Brennan's stomach at his words. "I want it to be good for you too," she said softly. "Generally I'm very self-confident when it comes to sex, Booth. I don't understand my concerns."

"You're good at sex, Bones." He smiled just a little, sending her insides into an even deeper tailspin. The gentle humor and total understanding in his eyes was every bit as arousing as his hard body beneath hers. "I have no doubt you're really, really good at sex. But my guess is you've never made love. So this is new. It makes sense you're nervous."

She rolled onto the mattress and he turned onto his side to lie face to face with her. "I learn fast, Booth."

"I know." This time his smile was full-on erotic in its blatant desire. He stroked her arms lightly. "You'll be an excellent student, Dr. Brennan."

"Who was the first person you ever made love with?" she asked.

Booth sighed loudly. "Do you really wanna go there, Bones?"

"I'm not asking who the first person you had sex with was. I'm just curious as to when you discovered the difference that you claim exists between sex and love making."

He sighed and flopped onto his back, throwing an arm across his eyes in obvious aggravation. "You know, I really don't want to discuss my previous lovers with you, Temperance, anymore than I want to hear about yours."

"All right. Don't tell me their names, if that feels invasive. Just explain to me how you knew one encounter was different from the other."

"It just feltdifferent, Bones," he muttered. "I can't explain it in detail. It's not like I sat down and wrote a paper about it."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just wish I understood better," Brennan said in frustration. "I'm unaccustomed to not understanding things, Booth. It makes me feel inadequate, when the topic is one that you and Angela toss around so casually, as though it were common knowledge."

He removed his arm from his eyes and looked sideways at her. "You'll understand after tonight, Bones. I will make _sure_ that you understand."

She slid closer to him, needing the reassurance that his physical nearness always brought her. He tucked an arm around her and she rested her head on his chest.

"It's an absurd sentiment, but I wish I was your first too," Brennan whispered. "I feel alone in this, Booth. Afraid."

"Baby." Booth's voice was so tender that she couldn't be annoyed at him. His big hands slowly traced their way up and down her spine. "You're not alone. I've never loved anyone like I love you, Temperance. Making love takes on a whole new meaning when it's with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. This is going to be different for both of us."

"But you wanted to spend your life with Rebecca."

His hands stopped moving over her back. "Yeah, but I didn't exactly get to make love with her after figuring that out and proposing, Bones. Remember?"

She knew this conversation was stirring up painful memories for him, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from pressing forward.

"Do you think our encounter will be similar in intensity to the one you might have had with Rebecca, if she'd said yes?"

"I don't know, Bones."

She could hear the couched impatience in his voice, as he wrestled with his discomfort with the topic, while trying to accommodate her fears at the same time.

"All I know for sure is that I'm supposed to be with you. No relationship I've been in since you became my partner ever came close to working, because I kept turning my dates into you in my head, without even realizing it. They couldn't match up to you, and they shouldn't have had to. I know you don't believe in fate, but maybe things didn't work out with Rebecca because I was supposed to be with you, Bones. That's all I know. We're supposed to be together, and that's going to make tonight that much more special."

His hands resumed their gentle play over her tense muscles and she felt herself slowly relaxing under their steady pressure.

"I have another concern," she admitted, worried that he would be angry at her.

"Yeah?" His voice was neutral.

"I don't want the experiment to end, Booth."

"Then it won't," he said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We just keep it going, Bones. There's no reason it has to end just because we're finally at the end of the goal we originally set."

"But I think one of the reasons we were successful this time, unlike others, is because of that goal," Brennan argued, lifting her head to look at him.

"Bones, you're so wound up about this whole thing, you're going to fall asleep halfway through tonight," Booth sat up. "Turn over. It's my turn to give you a back rub."

"I'm serious, Booth." She sat up too. "We had a specific target to aim for, and we reached it. You and I don't do well wandering aimlessly."

"So we set another goal." Booth took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "You're over-thinking again, Bones. If you think a target is what helped us get where we finally are, then fine. We'll come up with another one. But not tonight. Tonight's not about goal setting or experimenting or anything other than two people in love coming together for the first of many times." He smiled so warmly that a small part of the knot of fear in her throat dissolved. "Trust me, Bones. You won't be doing any thinking after midnight. That much, I can promise."

"We're going to wait until midnight?" Brennan turned onto her stomach. "Why?"

"If I told you that, I'd give away the surprise." He pressed a teasing kiss to her shoulder. "Close your eyes, Bones. Take a nap. Might as well use the big soft bed for something, right?"

She drifted away as he slowly loosened each of her muscles, punctuating the massage with the occasional light kiss.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When she finally drifted off to sleep, Booth moved off to the side and collapsed against a large pillow. Now he was the one who was completely drained. Her intense fear had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. He didn't want her to be afraid, dammit. He wanted her to be excited. Her fear just made him that much more nervous about what he needed to bring to the table in a few short hours. There was no way he was going to let her down, but, man, he could use another bottle of that expensive booze or something to help him unwind.

Instead, he rolled over to where his partner lay snoring and took her in his arms. Even though she was the cause of his tension, she was also the cure. As he held her soft, warm body close to his, he felt the worry begin to seep away. They'd made it to Week 6, and the earth was going to shake, not because of anything he did or didn't do, but because they were finally in the right place at the right time and something in the natural world was bound to resonate to that perfect moment when the stars aligned.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The announcement to fasten their seatbelts and prepare for landing failed to wake Booth and Brennan, so it was the hard thud of the plane's decidedly rough landing that literally jolted them both awake. The plane's deceleration sent the champagne bucket crashing to the floor and propelled Brennan off the edge of the bed and onto the carpet with a shocked gasp of surprise.

Booth rolled off his side of the bed and hurried around to where his partner was now sitting up in the middle of a pile of half-melted ice, looking more than a little confused.

He cursed and crouched in front of her. "You okay, Bones?"

"I'm fine." She rubbed her head experimentally. "I struck the nightstand as I fell, but didn't sustain any significant injuries."

Booth grimaced. "Guess that's why they insist on seatbelts. Sorry, Bones." He stood up, holding his hand out for her to pull herself up with.

"Will you promise my next awakening won't be quite so rude?" Brennan had an amused glint in her eye as she climbed to her feet with his assistance.

"I won't be knocking you onto the floor, if that's what you mean, although I might pull you down with me," he grinned, pulling her in for a fast kiss that, as tended to be the case lately, began to get out of control the moment their lips met.

"**Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Edmonton."**

Brennan broke the kiss and stared at Booth, even as he rolled his eyes and cursed again. "Edmonton, Canada?"

"I was kind of hoping you wouldn't find out until we at least hit customs," he admitted. "But it's not our final destination, Bones. This is just where the luxury ride ends. Hodgins' jet isn't headed quite as far as we are."

"Interesting," Brennan commented, beginning to collect the few possessions she'd brought onto the plane with her. "I had hazarded various guesses as to where your vacation might take us, but Canada was not on the list."

"Yeah?" Booth grabbed his own bag and waited for Brennan. "What were some of the places you were guessing?"

She shrugged. "Florida, maybe, or California or North Carolina. You seem to like beaches and warm weather destinations."

Booth chuckled, pleased that he'd managed to throw her off the scent so badly. "Guess your photographic memory doesn't reach quite as far back as I thought it did."

"What does that mean?" she asked, joining him at the door.

"Think back, Bones. Way, way back, to how this whole experiment got started." He opened the door, but stopped her before she could step outside. "You did bring some kind of a sweater in that mess of clothes Angela made you buy, right?"

"Thanks to Angela, I have so many sweaters packed that I could open a store," she responded dryly.

"Good. I mean, not good that you brought all of Macy's with you, Bones—frankly, that's just a pain in the ass when you don't have a car to throw everything in—but good because it'll be chilly where we're headed." He placed his hand on the small of her back and started to usher her forward.

It was Brennan's turn to stop him. She turned in the doorway.

"_Somewhere nice and secluded, maybe some wine and a fireplace, old movies and a couch to watch them on together after coming in from skiing."_ She quoted exactly from the very first conversation they ever had about the experiment. "I remember, Booth. We were in the car driving toward the field where Daze Hawthorne's cadaver was found, and you were attempting to suggest vacations I could take with other individuals in order to find the remedy for my flagging libido."

He remembered too. Boy, did he remember. Booth cringed at the memory. "You know I really didn't want you to go with those other guys, right, Bones? I was just being a good partner. Trying to be helpful, kind of thing."

Brennan leaned in so close that he could see the tiny wrinkles at the corner of her eyes—wrinkles from all those sleepless nights at the lab. Wrinkles that would only increase with age, and that she would never think of erasing. Wrinkles he knew he would find as appealing in a sixty year old Brennan as he did in her thirty year old incarnation.

Brennan trailed her fingers up his chest, stopping just above the collar of his t-shirt where she absently grazed her fingernails across his Adam's apple in a way that made his body contract with need. Her clear blue eyes continued to hold his steadily. Suggestively. "I suspect that all those sweaters will not be required to keep me warm on that couch, Booth. Nor do I believe we will finish watching many of those movies."

She abruptly stepped away from him and turned on her heel. Booth watched her lustfully, unable to tear his eyes from the purposeful sway of her hips as she headed toward the exit.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

In spite of her earlier innuendos, Brennan found herself reaching for the sweater in her carry-on when the small floatplane from Edmonton splashed down onto the waters of Sapphire, Canada's eponymous lake. The wind was crisp and bracing as they stepped off the gangway, directly onto a small pier.

Brennan shaded her eyes from the bright sun and glanced around. The airport was a ramshackle base made up of several small gray buildings that were leaning more than a little, probably due to the strong winds currently sweeping down the runway. Beyond the airport, she could make out the beginnings of a long stretch of road—presumably the small town's main street..

"I know it doesn't look like much, Bones," Booth said from behind her. "Just trust me."

Brennan turned toward her partner as she pulled on the azure fleece that Angela had snuck into her suitcase, after Brennan had thought she'd managed to avoid acquiring yet another sweater. She found herself silently thanking her best friend for the sweater, and for other things.

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be here," she said through the warm walls of the garment, finding that the hole for her head was just a shade too small. "Booth, I'm stuck."

She heard his low chuckle and it warmed her as much as the sweater. Then he nudged aside her hands, firmly grasped the sides of the sweater and yanked. Her head popped back into the sunshine, encountering his amused gaze.

"You look cute with your hair all messed up," Booth teased, tugging on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

Brennan batted his hand away. "So what do we do now?"

He eyed the suitcases as they were unloaded from the cargohold of the plane. "Half those bags are probably yours. Once we've got all the luggage, we've got to find a place to stash it until this evening."

"We can't just leave it at the hotel?"

"We're not staying at a hotel," Booth answered mysteriously, striding forward to heft two of her four suitcases, while slinging his own lone duffel bag across his shoulder.

She lifted her remaining two bags, plus her carry-on, and followed Booth toward the building specifically labeled "Welcome to Sapphire" in bright blue letters.

As they entered the building, Booth glanced over at her. "I'm gonna do a little flirting here, Bones," he informed her. "Just so we have a place to keep all this—" he jerked his head at the luggage, "until this evening. Okay?"

"Why does that require flirting?" Brennan asked in confusion.

This time he nodded in the direction of the only other person currently in the building, a harried looking blonde behind a cluttered desk who was currently glaring at a computer as though her annoyance could somehow be transmitted to the mechanism, solving whatever glitch in the system was presently occurring.

Their fellow passengers began to arrive behind them, and the partners stepped out of the way.

"She looks like she'll need some buttering up before deciding she can be nice." Booth turned on his charm smile—the one that Brennan found simultaneously appealing and annoying. "So don't get mad."

"I'll view it as a lesson in expert emotional manipulation," Brennan retorted, hiding her own smile.

She sat down on a nearby chair and watched as Booth approached the counter, oozing sex appeal. The swagger, the smile, the easy way he leaned against the counter and struck up a conversation—even though Brennan knew it was all designed to disarm the hapless airport employee, just as Booth disarmed suspects in the field, she still found it fascinating to watch the woman try bravely to resist the onslaught of charm before finally caving in and smiling girlishly.

A moment later, Booth was back with a smug grin. "C'mon, Bones. Nina is more than willing to watch our stuff for a few hours while we wander around downtown Sapphire."

"In order for a place to have a downtown, it requires an uptown," she pointed out, standing. "And don't get any false impressions about succeeding with similar flirtatious manipulations when it comes to getting your way in our relationship, Booth."

He pretended to look hurt, succeeding only in magnifying his appeal even more, to Brennan's frustration. "Like you said, Bones," he said over his shoulder as they carried their bags to the counter, "If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't be here with me. But I'm thinking just a little bit of the ol' Booth magic might have helped us get here today."

"You possess no magic," Brennan said firmly, handing over her bags to 'Nina,' who was now obviously fully under Booth's spell, no matter what Brennan believed about occult powers.

"Thanks, Nina," Booth beamed, winking at the woman. "You're a doll."

"She is not a doll," Brennan protested, avoiding the arm that Booth tried to sling around her shoulders as they headed for the terminal's exit. "She's a live human being who probably works long hours to pay her bills and was simply grateful to have someone acknowledge her important role in maintaining this small town's main connection with the outside world."

Booth scoffed. "You're just jealous, Bones."

"I am not!"

"Jealous," he repeated, holding open the door for her.

"Booth, I have some awareness of the type of women you are physically attracted to," Brennan insisted. "Nina does not fit that profile in the slightest."

Booth baited her. "You sayin' I only think women who look like you are hot?"

"Stop twisting my words."

"Jealous," Booth drawled. "You are jealous, Temperance Brennan, and that is red hot."

"Why is me being jealous –which I'm not—red hot?" Brennan asked, following him across the small parking lot and up a hill.

"It just is, Bones. Are you warm enough? We're only about 600 miles from the Arctic Circle."

"I'm fine." Brennan looked around curiously as they crested the hill.

The town was larger than she'd originally suspected. Directly below them was a series of rather hilly streets, weaving their way in out of old buildings that looked like they might have gold rush origins. Booth had told her on the flight from Alberta that Sapphire was known as one of the original diamond capitals of the world, but that once that source of income had been exhausted, the town had had to resort to other forms of tourism, generally built around the pristine ecosystem of the Northwest territories.

"That's Old Town." Booth pointed. "It dates back to 1935. New Town is over there." He gestured in a direction mostly obscured by more hills. "That actually has a few malls and even a movie theater. A lot of old-timers weren't happy when it was built."

"How do you know about this place, Booth? It doesn't exactly seem like a location that would be likely to appeal to you."

"Hockey, Bones. Canada's all about hockey, and I stopped off here a couple of times after seeing some games. You ready to get some grub? I'm hungry."

"How novel," Brennan said wryly, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Hey!" he protested. "The last time we ate was, what, eight, nine hours ago? Plus, there's a place here that makes killer pies." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of dessert.

"If the pies are prone to assassination, perhaps you should abstain this once?" she suggested as they descended towards the main road, which appeared to be a mixture of pavement and dirt at odd intervals. "While I work with cadavers on a daily basis, Booth, I believe tonight might be much more pleasurable for both of us if you remain sentient."

"Ha, ha, Bones. Just remember that comment when midnight rolls around and you're thanking your stars for how thoughtful your partner is."

"I'm not in the habit of thanking stars, Booth."

There was no doubt that the argument would have carried on much longer, if Bullocks' Bistro hadn't loomed in front of them, immediately off the main road.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They walked into the log-cabin styled restaurant, which turned out to be exactly how Booth remembered it. Two large wooden tables filled the center of the narrow building from end to end. A similarly narrow kitchen counter ran parallel to them, with its back wall covered in bumper stickers declaring everything from "Go braless" to "Jesus was a Liberal" and "WITCH—Woman In Total Charge of Herself." The rest of the walls and the ceiling were covered with graffiti, like the notes from one guy that read,

"I conquered this place. Then Martha. Then Sarah. Then Rhonda."

The place was jam-packed with people who were obviously regulars. An old guy propped against the kitchen counter waved his cane. "Hey LouAnne, where's my coffee?"

The waitress—and bistro's proprietor—was a solid, graying woman whom Booth knew to be equally as sturdy a character as her appearance would suggest.

"Are your legs broken?" she hollered back at the customer from where she was tending a grill.

"One of 'em is," the old guy replied cheerfully.

"Ask Randy to get you a refill," LouAnne yelled. "Last time I checked, he had two solid legs under him. Unless Brenda finally wised up and smacked him around a bit."

"Not yet," a tall man, presumably Randy, replied, wading into the conversation easily. He squeezed past the crowd of people and grabbed the pot of coffee from its spot behind the counter. "Where's your cup, Glen?" 

"BOOTH!"

The FBI Agent turned towards the loud shout and found LouAnne barreling towards him, a dripping spatula still in one hand. He flinched as splotches of grease landed on his arms and neck when the woman tackled him. She was definitely the bearhug's namesake, Booth decided weakly as she almost cracked his ribs in her muscular, flour-dusted arms.

LouAnne slapped him on the back and pulled away, grinning widely. "We're short-staffed today, boy, so I can't really talk. Come by at closing time and we'll catch up!"

Booth darted a glance at Brennan, who was quietly standing by his side. "Uh, I'm kinda busy tonight, Lou. Maybe another day?"

"Is this your wife?" LouAnne demanded, grabbing Brennan's hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm glad to know the woman who finally tied down our drifter. Your meal's on the house, sunshine."

"I'm not his—"

"She's not my wife," Booth jumped in hastily. "She's my girlfriend, Lou."

The woman looked less than impressed. "Is she gonna _be _your wife?" When both Booth and Brennan failed to respond, she frowned. "Stupid is as stupid does, Booth. Her meal's free. Yours isn't. Wise up, dumbass, before this one gets away." She stomped back towards the kitchen, chatting with customers as she passed them.

"Have you brought other girlfriends here?"

Brennan's casual comment sent chills down Booth's back.

"No," he said firmly. "While I was here last time, I kind of … hooked up with somebody, Bones, but she was _not _my girlfriend."

"Did you make love to her?"

Booth flushed. "No," he hissed, suddenly glad for the rowdy crowd around them. "It was strictly sex, Bones, and it only happened once. Twice, if you count—" he shook his head. "Once. Now can we please eat?"

She continued to hold her ground, looking uncertain. Jesus. The woman actually thought he'd brought her to a place where he already had a romantic history. He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her in close, kissing her long and hard, in spite of all the people around them.

"Her name was Linda, and I never kissed her like this, Bones," he growled against her firmly-set mouth. "I never took her where I'm taking you tonight. I never asked her if she wanted a bite of my pie. I never told her I was going to propose marriage in 347 days. I never told her I loved her." Booth felt her lips softening under his at last and sent up a prayer of thanks. He kissed her gently, repeatedly, until her body relaxed completely into his embrace and her hands started to tangle in the back of his hair. Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes intently. "It was a stupid two week fling after Rebecca dumped me the second time. Neither of us was in it for anything other than sex. We flew out on different planes and that was the last of it. Okay?"

"I wasn't jealous of Nina," Brennan told him. "I find that I am, however, irrationally jealous of Linda."

"Don't be." Booth guided her towards the unoccupied end of a table. "Linda had nothing on you, Bones. Not brains, not body, not anything."

He was grateful when she settled down onto the bench without insisting on further discussion. Booth slid a menu over to her.

"They make the best fish and chips in Canada," he informed her. "But their caribou steaks are just as kickass, if you're game. Get it, Bones? Game?"

She shook her head at the lame joke and closed the menu. "If you say the fish is good, I will believe you."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Hey, really, Bones? What about the whole vegetarian thing?"

She shrugged. "On dig sites I don't have much of a choice as to what I eat, so my eating preferences are necessarily flexible. And, given the lengths you've gone to in order to make this vacation special, I feel I should do at least something in order to show my appreciation. If you like the fish and chips so much, I will break my diet for once in order to try a dish you enjoy."

Booth grinned widely. "You won't regret your decision." He turned his head and yelled towards the kitchen. "Two chips and one apple slice!"

"No waiters?" she asked curiously.

"This place is _totally _self-service, Bones, except for the cooking," he explained. "Let me go grab us some water and bread. You want wine, maybe?"

"Wine with fried fish? I already had plenty of alcohol on the plane."

"C'mon, Bones," he begged. "Just say you want wine."

She squinted. "You don't need to ply me with alcohol in order to ensure that Week 6 finally arrives, Booth."

"You want wine," he decided. "Come with me. I can't carry everything."

Bemused but apparently willing to indulge him for a change, Brennan got up and followed her partner toward the kitchen.

"You get the wine and rolls," Booth said, pointing at a fridge. "I've got the water and butter."

He called to one of the cooks, who slid across a bowl piled full of butter, probably the same butter used to glaze the rolls Brennan was currently peeling off their baking sheets a few feet away, placing them in an oversized napkin.

He poured them two glasses of water straight from the tap, as he remembered doing on multiple previous occasions, then stood back and waited for the moment when Brennan's confused face re-emerged from the large fridge. She held up an extremely large bottle of Chardonnay.

"Is this the wine?"

"Yep," Booth said happily, handing her a wide green beer bottle from the counter, along with a yellow funnel. "Fill 'er up, Bones."

"This is definitely a unique dining experience," Brennan commented as they made their way back to the table with their respective items. "Is whatever you have planned for midnight equally unique, Booth?"

"You mean besides Week 6?" Booth sat back down, just as their food arrived and was deposited unceremoniously in front of them wrapped in newspaper. "Oh, yeah, Bones. What I've got planned is once in a lifetime, baby. Once in a lifetime."

She didn't chide him for the endearment, choosing instead to dig into her perfectly fried and battered Arctic char.

"Good?" Booth asked around a mouthful of his own and sighing with pleasure at the greasy, flaky goodness.

"Very." Brennan nodded. "I will even forego commenting on the high levels of saturated fat and cholesterol inherent to such a meal, as vigorous sex burns off a significant amount of calories."

He choked on his fish and had to reach for his glass of tap water. Brennan continued to innocently chow down on her meal, smiling mischievously at the fish in a way that made Booth's body temperature rise rapidly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They bussed their own plates and stepped out of the restaurant just as the sun started to sink low in the sky. Even if Booth's temperature had risen while inside the building, the evening's temperature had fallen significantly, and he wrapped a solicitous arm around his partner to help keep her warm as they walked back toward the airport.

The tension between them had started somewhere toward the end of the meal, and now hovered awkwardly between them at levels that even they had never known. With the goal now so plainly in sight, it was almost hard to believe that there would be no more interruptions or delays and that this was actually going to happen between them.

"I'm excited, Booth." Brennan spoke quietly, as they started down the hill toward the airport. "And nervous."

"Me too, Bones." He squeezed her hand. "It's a couple of hours to where we're headed, so we're probably going to get even more nervous on the long drive. I probably should've thought of that when I was planning."

The thought of several hours in a confined space with Booth at this moment made Brennan's pulse race.

"I can try and nap," she suggested. "It was a large meal."

"Good idea," Booth answered quickly. "You nap. I'll drive."

"Unless you're tired," Brennan continued. "Then I could drive, so long as you give accurate directions."

"I'm not tired. I'll drive. If I get tired, I'll tell you."

Conversation was usually so casually comfortable between them that it bordered on painful to be carrying on such forced, stilted exchanges as they retrieved their bags and headed for the car Booth had rented.

Booth tossed their bags into the back of the jeep and held Brennan's door for her, as always, but it all felt different. He climbed into the car and started the engine, glancing over to smile at Brennan in a manner he probably thought was reassuring, but that only made her even more jumpy. She rubbed her arms.

"I'll get some heat going here," Booth muttered, playing with the unfamiliar controls.

A blast of cold air hit Brennan and she reached out quickly to turn the vent, her fingers colliding with his as he attempted to do the same. She yanked her hand back, at the same time he did.

Wordlessly, he turned on the lights and guided the car out of its parking spot and onto the bumpy main road. As he piloted them through the heavy darkness, Brennan rested her head against the window and tried to slow her racing heart down through a breathing exercise. A thought kept nagging at her though, keeping her from fully focusing. She watched her partner's hunched shoulders, aware that he was being equally affected by the tension.

"Booth?"

He almost jumped at the sound of her voice. "Yeah?" His own voice wasn't particularly normal.

"Will it be like this tomorrow?"

"Like this—you mean, like _this_?" Booth gestured between the two of them without looking at her.

"Yes. I strongly dislike this awkwardness between us. Such tension would definitely disrupt our working rapport, Booth, not to mention damaging to our friendship."

"We're way past friendship, Bones," he reminded her unnecessarily. "And no, it won't be like this tomorrow. I mean, maybe when we first wake up, after, you know, yeah, maybe it'll be weird. But it'll be a good weird, Bones." He reached over and touched her knee. "We'll be okay."

She covered his hand with hers. "Promise?"

"Swear," Booth answered, giving her a more normal smile before removing his hand and returning it to the steering wheel. "Have a little faith, Bones."

"Our second date," Brennan remembered. "You blindfolded me."

"And now we're both kind of blindfolded," Booth admitted. "So it's the blind leading the blind, Bones, but we'll make it anyway. Because we have a cat."

"And a car," she said in a small voice, aware of what his answer would be.

"Less than half of a car, Bones. Thanks to _somebody's _crazy driving." At least his tone was more mocking than outright hostile.

"Perhaps we should listen to some music, Booth." She gestured at the radio. "We won't feel the need to talk so much if there's some kind of noise in the background to disrupt the tension."

"You won't get any reception out here. Hey, I forgot, Bones," he said suddenly, eyes glued to the road. "Look in my wallet. I have a musical valentine for tonight."

She reached for the wallet he'd tossed on the dash and opened its worn leather folds. "I've enjoyed the musical valentines, Booth. Both giving and receiving them. Perhaps we could continue them, even if we're no longer dating?"

"Whadya mean no longer dating?" He shot her a startled glance. "You mean because we'll have made love? Bones, I'll be dating you till the day I die. Even if you eventually decide to take a chance and marry me, I'll still be dating you. I _like _dating you, Bones. I'm not about to stop just because the experiment ends."

"I like dating you too," she admitted softly, as she located the folded slip of paper and held it up to the window to better see it.

"Just because this experiment ends doesn't mean everything else does, Bones. If you like the valentines, we keep them going. Period. Oh, and Bones?"

She made a noncommittal sound as she tried to read the lyrics of the song he'd printed out in its entirety in small print.

"If you tell anybody, including Angela, that I gave you a Bryan Adams' song, bad things'll happen."

Brennan grinned, feeling a slight easing of the tension. "I take it Mr. Adams is not considered a particularly heterosexual choice of music for an Alpha Male such as yourself, Booth?"

"Bad things'll happen," he repeated, eyes on the road. "He just happens to have a song that says exactly what I want to say to you. That doesn't mean I listen to him, ever. _Ever_. I just happened to Google love songs and this one came up, y'know?"

He sounded so aggressively defensive that it was her turn to reach over and touch his arm reassuringly, while glad for the cover of dark to hide her amused smile. "I will not tell anyone that you gifted me with "Everything I Do" as a musical valentine prior to our first evening making love, Booth. The lyrics are very sentimental, but appropriately so. Thank you."

He muttered something or other, clearly not convinced she'd keep his dark secret.

"I heard a song on the radio several days ago and thought of you," Brennan continued. "It's perhaps not appropriate for a music valentine, but I don't know what the rules are. Are our songs only chosen for sentimentality, Booth?"

He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "You give me whatever songs you want to give me, Bones. No rules."

"I was stuck in traffic and was irritated by the lack of astute commentary on the stations I usually listen to, so I was scanning through channels. I heard the ending of the song and looked it up when I got home. It reminded me a great deal of you. Would you care to hear the lyrics? They were quite simple to remember."

"Aw, you're gonna sing to me, Bones? Sure. Go ahead."

She didn't remember the tune exactly, but she'd easily memorized the words by connecting them to images of her partner chowing down at the diner.

_Tried to amend my carnivorous habits  
Made it nearly seventy days  
Losin' weight without speed, eatin' sunflower seeds  
Drinkin' lots of carrot juice and soakin' up rays_

But at night I'd had these wonderful dreams  
Some kind of sensuous treat  
Not zucchini, fettucini or Bulgar wheat  
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat  


"_**Cheeseburger in paradise, Heaven on earth with an onion slice, not too particular not too precise, I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise**_**!"** Booth recited the chorus excitedly. "Ha! That's Jimmy Buffet, Bones! Talk about a classic tune!" He punched her playfully in the shoulder. "That might be the best musical valentine so far, baby."

"If you continue to call me baby," Brennan warned, aware that she was losing that battle quite badly, mostly because (to her alarm) the term of endearment was starting to bother her less and less, "I will tell all your FBI friends about our lingerie date, which was conducted while listening to a Bryan Adams CD from your collection." 

"Geez!" Booth waved one hand in surrender. "You can be really vicious, you know that, Bones? Flat out vicious."

The tension that had flared between them had eased away somewhere between his musical valentine and hers. They bickered comfortably as Booth guided the Jeep deep into the frontier darkness.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING SPOILER WARNING **

**I hope the above gives you all some hope, after the horrific reunion scene in the season premiere. Seriously? A 1/4 second hug and a muted 'hey'? *fume* And, 'serious as a heart attack'? about blondie? And 'give yourself a chance to move on and find happiness, like I did'? I'm **_**not**_** happy, let's just say, although I will remain a faithful viewer. (And I'm still spoiler free, please, for the episodes to come. =)**

**Bullocks' Bistro is a real place, and Sapphire is loosely based on several small Northwest Territory towns, including Yellowknife.**

**Re: Brennan eating the fish and chips. OOC? Possibly. But I do think she'd have to be flexible with her diet, given her penchant for foreign travel. (I've spent a large part of my life living overseas, and there are just some places where you can't get any kind of protein if you don't at least eat fish.) So that's what my thinking was for that scene—it was intended to show she's grown as a character and is trying to be at least a little more flexible, just occasionally, in order to make Booth happy. **

**Fair warning for the coming chapters: I'm extremely outdoorsy, and may have endowed the characters with more of that trait than they actually have on the show. I fully understand that many of you may not agree with the no-frills vacations that Booth has planned. Then again, I can't really see them lounging on a beach their first vacation together. Next time, sure. The first time, though, in keeping with his stellar dates, it had to be ****unique****. =)**

**Next chapter: Week 6! Or Month 4! Whatever you want to call it—physical fireworks are about to finally ignite ****all the way**** …**


	65. Naked, outside, in

**A/N: I'm flat out terrified to post this chapter, after five months of build-up. (I started writing in May and it's now September.) I hope it meets at least some part of your expectations. I would rate it a high T or a very low M. Feedback is very, very, very much appreciated, even more so than it always is, for this particular chapter, given how nervous I am about hitting the final 'post' button. **

**Eternal thanks to Eternal Destiny for repeatedly beta-ing this scene as I wrote and rewrote it. If you haven't read **_**The Conclusion In the Psychology**_**, you're missing out, so go read it already!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Bones." Booth looked down at his sleeping partner and felt a rush of tenderness at how trustingly she'd curled up on the seat beside him. He was surprised when he opened the door that the cold wind didn't immediately blast her awake. Gently, he touched her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him unfocused for a minute. "We're here."

Brennan sat upright and wrapped her arms around herself automatically, in spite of her fleece and the jacket he'd draped over her as she slept. Booth held out a blanket. "You're gonna need this."

She accepted it as she slid out of the car and stood slightly unsteadily, struggling to get her bearings in the unfamiliar setting. Booth gave her her space, heading around to the back of the Jeep and rummaging around for several more blankets and his duffle bag.

"Can you survive out of your carry on for one night?" he called. "We can come back and get the rest of the bags in the morning."

"That will be fine."

He hoisted out their two bags and trudged over. "Put on another sweater or three, Bones. We'll be outside for a long time."

Brennan dug obediently into her bag and piled on the layers, topping off sweaters, jacket and hat with the wool blanket he'd given her. Booth handed her a pair of gloves and waited until she put them on, then gave her a once-over in the puddle of light formed by the Jeep's headlights. Satisfied that she was well-outfitted for their excursion, he lifted their bags again and led her forward.

Even so late in the evening, the scrub grass they walked through remained damp, chilling their already cold legs.

"I have extra socks, in case you need them," Booth told her as they made their way onto a small pier that he never would have found had he not been here several times before.

A small rowboat was silhouetted in the light of the low-lying crescent moon. It bobbed on the waves of Opal Lake, created by the never-ending wind. He tossed their bags into it and helped Brennan settle in before climbing in himself and reaching for the oars.

"Planes, Jeeps and a rowboat," Brennan commented, sounded decidedly more alert than she had when she first woke up. "Once again, you've gone to extreme measures to ensure an interesting date, Booth."

He dipped the oars into the water and pulled back smoothly, propelling them across the black surface of the glacial lake. "I found this place a little while after I got out of the Rangers. The gambling was just starting to become a real problem, and I guess I was trying to avoid getting in trouble by running away from civilization."

Brennan wrapped the blanket around herself more tightly.

"I've got something to warm us up in just a minute," he promised her.

"Week 6?" Brennan inquired hopefully.

"Not yet."

He could almost feel her sulking in the darkness and reached out to nudge her foot with his amusedly. "Almost there, Bones. Almost."

Brennan hunched forward under the blanket to shield herself from the wind. The night was completely quiet, except for the splash of the oars and the occasional call of a lovelorn frog. With little light from the moon above, Booth knew she had no idea where they were headed. When they rowed up against the sandbar, she'd only just begun to notice the bulk of the island growing out of the dark.

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw a colorful flash starting across the sky.

"Hurry up, Bones. It's starting." He jumped out of the boat and helped her onto shore, urging her up the sandy hill and into the wide field as quickly as her feet would carry her safely on the rocky terrain.

"What's starting?" Brennan's eyes were so focused on the ground in front of her that she completely missed what was happening overhead.

Booth slung his bag down and spread out one of the blankets he'd carried with him. He sprawled out on his back and indicated that Brennan should do the same. She settled down beside him, curling into his side, where he draped another blanket across them. "Look up, Bones."

She glanced upwards and gasped audibly as another flash of color joined the dancing streaks of green and blue that were already lighting up the sky like a preternatural screensaver.

"Booth." Her awed whisper carried across the night. "How did you know I've always wanted to see the Northern Lights?"

"I know you, Bones," he answered, elated that his long-planned surprise had gone over well. "I figured this would be something you'd like to see."

Undulating ribbons of green, yellow and dark red shimmered across the sky, rising and falling in a magnificent, twisting veil of color.

"It's like a rainbow at night," Brennan murmured as twisting funnels of wispy blue-green and magenta added another layer of color to the natural show unfolding above them. "I read an Inuit tale when I was a child that mentioned some tribes hold the belief that the lights are the spirits playing ball in the sky with a walrus skull."

He smiled and kissed her temple. "You mean maybe it's our moms up there putting on a show for their kids, Bones? Kinda like giving us their blessing?"

"You know I don't believe such things, Booth."

"Shh." Booth touched her cheek. "Don't talk, Bones. Just watch."

Quivering orange and yellow lights waxed and waned like a simultaneous sunrise and sunset, merging with other colors in the spectrum and becoming subsumed, then breaking free again and streaking across the sky in vast vertical patterns until they were pulled back in again by the nebulous aurora.

Once again, Booth found himself torn between watching a once-in-a-lifetime moment, or watching his partner, and Brennan won out a second time. Even the Aurora Borealis had nothing on the amazement shining in Brennan's eyes, or the way her gasps of delight carried straight through his shirt and skin, engraving themselves on his soul for eternity.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

By the time the colors receded into the night, leaving only a faint blue glow as a reminder of what had been, Booth and Brennan were both frozen pretty much solid. He hadn't been able to feel his nose or most of his toes for the last half hour, but hadn't had the heart to complain given how excited she was.

Brennan probably didn't even notice the cold until the last streak of red faded from the sky and she turned to Booth. Even though her eyes were gleaming with happiness, her lips were white and her teeth were audibly chattering.

Booth frowned and stood up, pulling her with him. He wrapped the blankets around her more snugly, even though they would only come loose as they walked. "C'mon, Bones. The plan wasn't for you to get hypothermia."

Wordlessly, she slid her cold, gloved fingers into his hand and they sped-walked back in the direction of the lake. When they came to a turn-off with a small wooden arrow, he led her down the second path, this one more gravel than dirt. The sounds of their feet crunching over the small rocks seemed magnified by the silence of the night.

Neither of them said anything. All the words had been spoken. All the games had been played; all the dues paid. Almost six years of denial and desire came down to this fast-paced walk, with its acknowledged, unspoken ending. The bulk of the cabin Booth had rented loomed in the distance, lending magnitude to the heavy awareness between them that this was it.

The cool night air suddenly felt heavy, as though a physical weight were bearing down on the partners as they strode up the last stretch of gravel. At the porch steps, Booth stepped in front of Brennan and hurried up to the door. He withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked it, then guided her into the rustic living room that was mostly as he remembered it from several years back.

A small kitchen in the east corner of the room contained an old-fashioned icebox, a gas stove, several cabinets and a pump sink that had to be primed before use. A huge oak dining table that Booth had never found much use for filled the center of the room, leading into the long tan couch and lounge chairs on the west side, positioned in front of a fireplace bricked into the wall. Other than that, the interior was empty, and as dark and cold as the outdoors.

Brennan hovered uncertainly as Booth pulled his gloves off and tossed them on the table. He reached over and tugged her own gloves off, chafing her cold fingers in his hands.

"I'll get a fire going," he told her. "The hook up for the electricity is pretty much shot, so don't hit the lights unless you're prepared to blow a fuse somewhere besides my brain. The bedroom and the bathroom are straight back. The heater is solar, so you should be able to get some hot water. Run your hands under the tap. That should help."

She nodded and headed off in the direction he had pointed. Booth watched her go for a minute, his mind still struggling with the realization that there would be no more delays. He stepped back onto the porch and selected a number of likely candidates from the neatly stacked cache of logs, then hauled them inside and set about starting the fire.

He was out of practice, but it didn't take too long before the logs caught flame. In short order there would be a nice blaze, he thought with satisfaction as he walked over to the kitchen and turned on the stove. By the time he'd primed the pump, filled a pan with water and placed it on the glowing burner, the fire was starting to build up nicely.

Booth moved toward the tiny pantry located beside the icebox and rummaged around, locating the supplies he'd paid a local to ferry over to the island before he and Brennan arrived. While he waited for Brennan to emerge from the bathroom, he busied himself making a pot of tea to help her unthaw, and a cup of really lousy frontier coffee for himself, for the same purpose.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan avoided the bedroom and stepped directly into the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind her. The room was small but adequate, with a sturdy clawfoot tub adjacent to a much more modern looking sink and toilet.

Up until this point, she hadn't stopped moving from the moment they'd left the field. It was almost as though she subconsciously didn't want to stop. If she did, something might happen to ruin everything. It had happened before. But now, with all movement abruptly stopped, Brennan suddenly felt at a loss. Her purpose was accomplished. She apparently had nothing to do here, while Booth took care of everything.

A cracked but serviceable mirror hung above the sink and she stepped forward and grasped the edges of the sink and scrutinized herself. She still looked the same, in spite of the cold-induced pallor. Her hair, her eyes, her whole face and body—nothing had changed. She felt as though something should look different, _be _different, after the events of the last four months, and yet it was the same old Temperance Brennan staring back at her in the dim light. Uncertainty stirred within her, even as she heard the slam of the door when Booth stepped outside to get something or other.

She sat down on the edge of the tub, trying to get her bearings.

_You're in a bathroom in Canada. Your partner is a few feet away. In a couple minutes, he'll expect you to walk back into the living room and to join him in finishing the experiment. This is not work-related._

Booth was somewhere in the cabin, clattering around, setting the scene, and she had nothing to do other than wait. Brennan's stomach tilted uncomfortably.

_This is not work-related._

When he kissed her this time, there would be no stopping. When his hands went to the buttons of her clothing—the same buttons Angela had insisted she wear—it wouldn't be just to open one or two teasingly. When his lips touched her breasts, it would be without a barrier of fabric between them. When they crawled into bed tonight, it wouldn't be fully clothed with the intention of simply holding each other in sleep. When they woke in the morning, it wouldn't be with the comfortable familiarity that they'd built between each other over the last months. Everything would be different.

_This is not work-related._

Her heart rate sped up and her stomach tilted even further. She leaned her head against the cool tile wall, aware that her breathing was also uncomfortably accelerated.

_This is not work-related. _

She knew what to do with just sex. She knew exactly what was expected of her, and was more than adept at delivering pleasure both for herself and her sexual partner. She lacked no self-confidence when it came to sex. Why should this be any different?

_This is not just sex._

This was supposed to be different, somehow, and she didn't understand how or why. She wasn't sure if she was intended to kiss Booth differently than she had other men, or maybe touch him in different ways, ways that no one had ever taught her. Sex was always a freeing experience for her, but making love seemed to come with a whole set of unfamiliar constraints. Constraints she needed to read about, in order to understand the rules and the procedures, before she could consider herself competent.

Brennan's palms flattened over her thighs. She needed to talk to Angela, but there would definitely not be cellphone reception here. She needed Angela to tell her how to proceed so she didn't embarrass herself or Booth. She needed Angela to tell her what she should and should not do.

_What if I make a mistake? What if it's not different for me, and it is for him? _

In spite of her efforts to control the surge of adrenaline that was coursing through her bloodstream and making her light-headed, she found that the seed of fear that had been planted the moment she closed the door of the bathroom had already sprouted and was rapidly growing into fullblown alarm.

Brennan slid to the floor and dropped her head to her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself and struggled to come to grips with the terror that was inexorably pulling her downward in a visceral riptide of panic and regret.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The fire was roaring, illuminating the formerly dark room with a warm, friendly orange glow. The tea was getting cold by this point. Booth had gone through three cups of thick-as-sludge coffee. He'd made up the bed with the clean sheets he'd brought with him, and lit candles all around so they wouldn't stub their toes on their way into the darkened bedroom.

Booth paced the living room uncertainly, wondering what the hell Brennan was doing. Maybe Angela had given her specific instructions for makeup, or something? He made up his mind and headed down the hall toward the bathroom, deciding that he needed to get to Brennan before she spent an hour slathering her face with junk she definitely didn't need to look pretty.

"Uh, Bones?" He knocked lightly on the door. "The tea's ready."

No answer.

He frowned and knocked again. "You know you really don't need to get all dolled up or anything, whatever Angela told you."

Still no answer.

Beginning to feel a vague thread of alarm, Booth knocked a third time. "Hey, Bones. C'mon, say something. You okay in there?"

"I'm fine."

The hollow voice that drifted through the thin door definitely did _not _sound fine. Booth's mouth went dry and he cursed himself six times over for being such an idiot. He should never have let her go off on her own, to where her genius brain could take over and send her down the slippery road of what she thought was cold, hard reason.

He rattled the doorknob. "Open the door, Bones."

"Please go away, Booth." She sounded exhausted, more so than she should have been even after a full day traveling. Brennan made trips like that all the time and didn't bat an eye.

"Like hell," he said firmly, trying hard to conceal the worry in his own voice. "I'm not going anywhere, Bones."

He'd expected her to continue to stall. What he hadn't expected was for her to open the door and stand there looking at him like she'd just seen a ghost.

"Jesus." His stomach dropped straight to his feet.

Brennan's lips were compressed together in a flat, thin line. Her eyes were wide and staring, looking right through him. Her skin was almost gray. She looked flat out petrified. Booth took a step toward her, then stopped as he saw her automatically take a step back.

"I don't know what to do." Brennan's words were so soft that they barely made it to Booth's ears.

"Do?" he repeatedly dumbly, scrambling to find a way to fix this, whatever _this _was. "Bones, you don't have to do anything."

"I _need_ to do something!" Her hands balled up into tight fists. "Booth, I can't just do nothing. I need to feel productive."

"Bones, we're on vacation. You don't need to be productive."

"You've done everything. You want to be in charge tonight, and I don't even know what that means. I feel useless, Booth." Her voice was shrill with panic. "I require some sense of direction."

"Okay." Booth pressed his hands to his eyes. "Okay. Then you lead tonight, Bones. I didn't mean to make you feel left out of things."

"I don't know how to lead in this situation." Confusion clouded her eyes. "I don't know anything about making love, Booth! I don't know what to say—where to put my hands, my lips—"

"Bones," he interrupted, beginning to realize the corner he'd unintentionally backed her into. "Bones, it's not like that."

"What is it like, then?" she demanded, her fear transitioning into frustrated anger. "What if I don't feel what I'm supposed to feel, Booth? What happens then? How do I know if we're making love or having sex? What if I'm having sex and you're making love and the end result is that we're both disappointed because I couldn't give what was needed?"

He took a deep breath. The evening was definitely not playing out the way he'd hoped, but maybe he could still fix things so the entire trip didn't slide right down the drain, along with any progress they'd managed to make over the course of four months of dating.

"Do you want to wait?" he asked, dreading her answer but knowing he'd accept it either way. "I'll wait as long as you need, Bones, no matter how badly I want you. If you're not ready, we'll spend our vacation just hanging out. Having fun."

"I don't want to wait," she said immediately, to Booth's overwhelming relief. "I wantto have sex with you, Booth. I just don't know if I can make love. I don't know what's required of me here.""

She needed rules to follow in order to feel safe. He needed her to relax enough so that he wasn't afraid she'd snap in half from the tension if he tried to hold her. Booth rubbed his jaw for a moment as he considered how to accommodate both their needs. "Okay, Bones. Here's what required." He held out his hand. "Take two steps forward and grab my hand."

She looked at him uncertainly. "What happens after that?"

Maybe things would be less overwhelming for her if she didn't have to stare them straight in the face.

"You're going to follow me like you did when you were blindfolded, Bones. You're going to close your eyes, and I'm going to lead, but only as far as you're comfortable. The moment you get scared, we'll slow down, or stop, or you can take over." He continued to hold out his hand, praying to every available saint in hearing range. "Then I can close my eyes and you lead me. Either way, I won't let you fall, Bones."

"What if I don't feel what I'm supposed to feel?" She repeated her words from a moment ago, sounding so lost that he ached for her. "I don't want to hurt you, Booth."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that it already hurt plenty to see that she was more terrified about making love with him than she was excited, by the look of things.

"Bones," he asked, deciding that maybe a blunt approach would work better. "You said you loved me. Is that still true?"

"Yes," Brennan said quickly. "My feelings haven't changed in that respect, Booth. And I do want to have intercourse with—"

"That's the only thing you're supposed to feel here tonight, Bones," he cut in. "Love. So you're not missing out on anything."

"But how do I know if it's sex or making love?" she insisted.

"It stopped being sex the moment you fell in love with me," Booth said simply. "Let go, Bones. You don't like labels, so don't try and label this. Just go with it. Take my hand and let me catch you."

At least some of the color had returned to her face as she stared at him for an endless moment before finally stepping forward and sliding her hand into his tentatively. He wrapped his fingers around hers and carefully drew her towards him, watching for any signs of renewed panic. When she came to rest against his chest and didn't yank away, Booth breathed a prayer of gratitude and wrapped his arms around her lightly. Her arms followed his, much more tightly, so tightly that they were literally squeezing the breath out of him, but he didn't complain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shirt. He could hear the embarrassment and worry in her voice.

"Shh." He stroked her back, trying to get his heart rate under control again. She'd sent it spiraling into the red with her panic attack. "We're okay, Bones."

She pulled back abruptly and glared into his face, her gaze shifting into a mask of determination. "I can learn this, Booth."

"Sure you can," he assured her, much more casually than he felt. "You're the genius, Bones. You'll be better at this than me by tomorrow morning."

A small smile touched the corners of her lips. "That's absurd hyperbole intended only to make me feel better."

"Partially," he admitted, squeezing her waist. "But you'll definitely be beating me at my own game before long, Bones. Then I'm the one who'll freak out about not being able to keep up with my crazy hot partner in bed."

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his briefly. "I love you, Booth."

Before he could even begin to respond, she pulled away, sending warning pangs of alarm through him, until he saw that the look on her face was distinctly more seductress than freaked out squint.

"Give me five minutes to get ready," she ordered, pointing him in the direction of the fireplace. "If I'm not out by then, kick the door in." She gave him a sultry smile that speeded up his heart rate all over again, for entirely different reasons. "I must admit that I find some of your alpha male propensities very arousing."

He watched her saunter back into the bathroom and close the door behind her, before he smacked the wall lightly with a closed fist and headed back towards the living room, shaking his head. Life with Temperance Brennan would never be boring. That was for damn sure.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth was perched on the arm of the couch waiting impatiently when she stepped into the living room and stopped, taking in the flickering candles spread across every available counter and surface, save the area closest to the fire. The heat generated by the candlelight and fireplace didn't come close to the warmth that filled Booth as he took in his slender partner dressed in the same jeans, a cobalt shirt that was buttoned all the way to the neck and yet somehow managed to be sexy by clinging to her every curve, and her hair done up in a loose chignon that exposed the graceful line of her neck to his hungry eyes.

"Bones." He stood up, almost stumbling over his own feet. "Bones, you look beautiful."

She gestured at the shirt. "Buttons. As promised."

"Except now there's nobody to see what's underneath except me," Booth replied heatedly, moving towards her and stopping a foot away. "Is that okay, Bones? That I'm glad this is for my eyes only?"

"You're asking permission to be possessive," Brennan translated. "Correct?"

"Yeah." Booth's jaw tightened along with the rest of his body at how very near she was to him. "I get that you're not a possession, Bones. Just tonight … I want to know you're mine." The last words were more of a growl than a coherent phrase.

"I understand what you're trying to convey," Brennan answered, taking him by surprise. She didn't usually pick up on emotional implications quite so quickly. "You are not attempting to assert physical ownership so much as ascertaining that no other man will have similar rights to my body. In that sense, I am yours, Booth, yes. I have no desire to look elsewhere for physical companionship."

Her words shook him to the core, with all the implications they carried that Brennan probably wasn't even aware of in terms of hinting at a long-term commitment. He prayed she couldn't see the full impact she was having on him, for fear she'd lock herself in the bathroom again.

Booth opened his arms, feeling the tension between them flare even higher as she stepped forward and settled into him wordlessly, her arms reaching high on his back to return his embrace. For a long moment, he just held her, trying to ignore the loud thudding of his heart.

Just because he'd dreamt of this moment seven thousand different ways ever since the start of the experiment—and long before that, too-each time envisioning the scenario a little differently, didn't mean he was at all prepared for the complete lack of bloodflow to his brain as the realization sank in that this particular hug had a _whole_ lot more significance than others had had. He literally felt drunk with desire, his head spinning, his mouth almost comically dry, his stomach clenched tight with nervous anticipation.

"I feel like I'm 16 again," he said into her hair, more than a little afraid that he'd exhibit other teenage tendencies once things came down to the very hot wire.

Brennan lifted her head and looked at him so seriously that his gut clenched a little tighter.

"I lost my virginity at 21, Booth. And yet I have the wholly irrational feeling that I'm about to lose it again, even though that is a physical impossibility."

He swallowed hard to buy himself a moment, but when he did speak his voice still came out sounding way too shaky. "We're not losing anything here, Bones. This is one game where we're both going to come out winning." He rested his forehead against hers, falling deeper and deeper under the spell of her intense blue eyes as she held his gaze unflinchingly. He read so much in that look—all the ingrained fear, the newborn, still very raw trust she was placing in him, the undiluted physical need.

When she spoke this time, her voice was much steadier than his, albeit with a hungry edge. "No more waiting, Booth."

His heart speeded up another notch. He dropped his eyes and fixated on the button nestled right beneath her slender white throat. None-too-steadily, he reached out and rested his fingers beside that first button. "Close your eyes, Bones."

He didn't look up to see if she'd obeyed. All his attention was focused on that small white circle. His fingers miraculously stopped shaking and he slid the button through the eyelet. Carefully, he pulled back the tiny bit of fabric he'd released and leaned in to just barely press his lips to the tiny sliver of exposed skin. Brennan exhaled a short, nervous breath and reached for his shoulders to steady herself.

Booth undid the second button and repeated the feather-light caress, skimming his mouth across the surface. Brennan dangerously increased the pressure of her fingernails on his shoulders, commanding him to kiss her harder, longer, and Booth smiled into her skin and kissed the same spot again, equally lightly before dropping to the third button. It slipped through, revealing that perfect hollow at the V of her throat. Booth trailed his fingers across the spot before placing the smallest of kisses in the indentation. In response, Brennan inhaled sharply and lifted a hand to the back of his neck, trying to urge him closer.

"Easy, Bones," he murmured, giving in for just a moment and lingering at the enticing pulse point that always drove him crazy. He kissed his way back up the path he'd just blazed, enjoying the frustrated noise she made when he stopped right below her chin. "We're just gettin' started."

She dragged her nails across his back warningly. "I'm not as patient as you are, Booth."

"It'll be worth it," he promised, undoing the fourth button. "Trust me, Bones. It'll be so worth the waiting, baby …" As he encountered the initial dip of her cleavage, his brain suddenly stopped functioning. There was no more thinking about how this should or shouldn't happen. There was only her supple skin almost directly beneath his fingers, her hands insistently urging him closer, her breathing already starting to hitch, even though they were just beginning.

Booth continued to the next button, revealing a hint of the sage green lace bra she'd chosen to wear for the evening. His heart momentarily stopped as he remembered the garment he'd helped her pick. The subtle color made her skin look somehow even smoother and creamier than it already was. And it tied together, rather than using a regular clasp. Booth groaned softly in expectation of what he would see shortly.

He pressed a kiss to the now exposed tops of each breast before moving on to buttons six, seven and eight, following the curves of her breasts downward with each button. When he reached nine and ten and moved to tug back the lapels of the shirt as he'd been doing all along, Booth stopped and stared, taking in the ample curves encased in pale green lace, up to a point. There was a whole lot of Bones that wasn't covered by any fabric, and that's exactly where his eyes were glued, in addition to gazing longingly at the tightly tied bow, barely holding her in.

Trying to maintain some semblance of control, Booth dragged his thumb down the line of her cleavage, ending right above that enticing bow. The bow that he could untie anytime he wanted.

Not yet.

Feeling like he was in sort of alternate universe where he was actually allowed to make love to his partner without recriminations from society or vengeful fates, he dropped a heated kiss on each breast, right above the fabric line, then continued with the buttons and the light kisses all the way across her ribcage and flat, toned stomach, until the entire shirt finally lay open.

Brennan's eyes opened as Booth moved back a fraction of a step so he could just look at her beautiful body for a minute.

"Bones." He wanted to say more when their eyes met. Wanted to tell her how incredible she was, how he'd never seen anything more perfect, how he needed her so badly his entire body was practically shaking. But all that came out was her nickname. "Bones. Bones, I—you're—wow. Just, wow, Bones."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The look in his eyes as he stared at her was unlike any Brennan had ever seen. She was accustomed to being regarded with lust. Booth's dark brown eyes certainly held plenty of desire, but the overriding emotion on his face was one that even she could read. Love. The awareness of how much he loved her sped through her body, making her even more weak-kneed than she already was feeling.

"Bones." The tenderness in his voice was as gentle as his kisses.

He peeled the fabric back from her shoulders and slid it down her shoulders, allowing the silk garment to drop to the ground. His eyes still firmly locked on hers, he reached for the last button, the one belonging to her jeans, and unfastened it. Brennan shivered at the newly intimate caress of his fingers as he slid the zipper down.

Instead of pushing the jeans down right there and then, though, he surprised her by turning her in his arms, so she stood with her back to him. He wasn't physically touching her, but she could feel his presence hovering just millimeters away.

"You have the world's most beautiful skin. I want to kiss you, Bones," he murmured in her ear. "All over. Starting right here." His hands didn't touch her, but his mouth did, dropping to the base of her hairline, right below where her chignon was fastened. He'd never kissed her exactly there before. Her hair was always in the way. When his lips caressed the sensitive spot, Brennan reached back with an arm to drag him closer. She needed some kind of physical support, or she was going to collapse into a metaphorical puddle of desire in a matter of minutes, if her present reaction was anything to go by.

Booth moved in closer, and the feel of his narrow hips locked tightly against hers made her entire body tighten with desire. She rocked back into his solid frame, even as he bent her forward with one careful hand on her shoulder and began to follow the line of her shoulders with his lips.

"Booth." Brennan whispered his name as he slowly kissed every inch of her neck and shoulders, then started down her spine with the same infinite care, each press of his lips pushing her higher, closer, nearer to whatever edge it was they were about to step over together.

"Bones." He spoke into her skin, following his mouth with the lightest of touches from his fingertips. "Everything about you is so beautiful."

She'd heard the words from many men, but never spoken with the total sincerity that was in her partner's voice. For the first time, she had an understanding of what loving somebody 'outside and in' meant. He loved her in such a manner. The aging process would not change his feelings for her, no matter how her features and bone structure shifted with the years. He loved more than the bones. And now, so did she.

"Booth." She said his name for no reason, trying to find a way to tell him what she felt and failing miserably as his lips continued to distract her.

He turned her in his arms again and smiled down at her so intensely that fireworks went off in her body. "Every inch, Bones." He dropped his head to her throat. "I want to taste you, Bones. I've been dying to taste you for years."

She knew he found her throat particularly arousing for some reason, but there was no way he found her skin as arousing as she found his mouth. Again, he worked his way down the column of her neck, his kisses growing increasingly heated as he fastened on spots that he had a special fondness for. She moaned and called his name as he elicited sensations from her body that she'd never known were possible when he hadn't even reached the standard erogenous zones yet.

"Sweet," Booth growled, kneeling to press his lips to her navel. "How the hell can any one person be so sweet, Bones?"

She was incapable of answering his question or explaining that nothing in the human body was capable of producing a taste in the epidermis. It seemed that her entire vocabulary had somehow been erased and replaced by two words—_Booth_ and some version of _oh_ and _yes_. The awareness that he was fully intending to hold true to his promise to the make the earth shake for her made Brennan tremble in astonishment. Such physical sensations were metaphorical. She was certain of it. But the earth was already rocking around her, and they'd barely begun.

When he lifted his mouth from her again, Brennan grabbed for him, needing to feel his mouth back on her skin. With a dark chuckle, Booth nudged her hands away. She followed his gaze and saw where it had fastened, and the earth shook again.

Booth reached up with one hand, the other still lightly gripping her waist, and took hold of the ribbon holding her bra closed. For one moment, he dragged his eyes away and looked up at her, questioning.

"Bones?" He waited for her to answer.

No man before him had ever bothered to ask permission. The fact that she was half-naked and he still asked, in spite of her obvious physical consent, triggered another sky-high rush. Brennan nodded and closed her eyes. "Yes."

He tugged and the tie came loose. Booth nudged the cups away with his thumbs, peeling the bra straps off her shoulders as he had done with her shirt and allowing the garment to join her shirt somewhere on the ground.

Then he didn't touch her. When he didn't immediately kiss her, she opened her eyes again to find out what the problem was.

He was looking at her. There it was again, that look in his eyes, latent desire all mixed up with undeserved adoration, that made Brennan want to laugh and cry at the same time, even as her body screamed for more. She could almost feel his eyes as they slid across her body.

"Bones." His voice was soft with wonder. He reached up with one hand and her entire body tensed with anticipation. Just before he touched her, he pulled back, shaking his head, and she almost whimpered in frustration.

"I can't believe I can do this," Booth admitted. "Just sit here and look at you, I mean. I could look at you all day, Bones."

She didn't know if she was supposed to issue orders, but she was definitely done with looking. Brennan knelt in front of her partner, and took both of his hands in hers. She lifted them towards her, with every intention of placing them exactly where they both wanted them to be.

"Wait." His voice was almost guttural in its intensity as he sat back and dragged his own shirt over his head. Brennan barely had time to take in the perfect planes of his pectoral musculature before he was reaching for her, pulling her up against him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and relished the groan that came from him as her bare breasts pressed into his hard, naked chest.

"God, Bones." His words were muffled in her hair, and she could feel him trembling. The knowledge that she had this kind of power over the strongest person she'd ever met was a potent aphrodisiac. He needed her every bit as much as she needed him.

"Bones—"

"I know." She whispered the words into his shoulder, her fingers kneading the tense, firm muscles of his upper back. "I know, Booth. I feel it too."

He lifted his head to look at her, a look of amazement on his handsome face. "Yeah?"

"Yes." She traced the line of his jaw with her fingers, just as surprised as he was.

Booth's jaw worked under her fingertips, and she smoothed her palm across his stubbled skin even as he nudged her back with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He reached out and traced the outer curve of one breast with the tips of all five fingers, his thumb skimming back and forth across its surface in the lightest of caresses. His hand moved upwards to trace the line of her collar bone, then back down to follow the line of her cleavage in an erotic, zigzag pattern that made Brennan moan with the need for more. Much, much more.

She exhaled his name longingly as he finally leaned forward and pressed his lips to the lower curve of her left breast. "Booth."

He lifted his head and met her eyes. "Bones." His intense, heated gaze further aroused her with its undisguised desire. She unclenched one hand from his shoulder and slid it up the back of his neck and into his hair.

Booth angled his head slightly and moved in to kiss her, his lips just barely grazing back and forth across hers even as his fingers continued to play across her skin in increasingly bold, but still feather-light sweeps that mirrored the light touch of mouth on hers.

Brennan had been with her fair share of experienced sexual partners, but none of their more aggressive moves had ever elicited the same reaction she was having to her partner's gentle touch. He was right. It was all different this time.

Her knees shook and she arched into him, her fingers digging into the wide muscles of his shoulder in an effort to keep her body upright. Still, he teased her with the softest of kisses. Brennan moaned in frustration as he assiduously avoided giving her what she wanted so much, his fingers circling around and around the apex of each breast, his tongue brushing back and forth across the tip of hers, mirroring the play of his hands across her breasts.

"_Booth_. Please."

"Please what, Bones?" he whispered into her mouth, the laughter just under the surface of his tone every bit as arousing as his caress. "What do you want, baby?"

"Kiss me." She uttered the command, knowing he wasn't likely to obey.

"I am." Booth's smile was predatory as he kissed the corners of her mouth.

"Harder." Brennan clamped down on the back of his head with all of her considerable strength. "Kiss me harder, Booth."

She half-expected him to continue the torment, but instead he got to his feet, lifting her with him as he rose. Then his mouth sealed itself over hers and all teasing ceased as he gave her exactly what she had demanded, his tongue heatedly insinuating itself against hers, plundering the furthest recesses of her mouth, retreating only to reacquaint itself with her lips, and then moving forward again with a distinct purpose, until Brennan's world began to tilt on its axis.

"Booth …" His name slipped from her lips at the same moment that he broke from her mouth. Before she could complain, the arm he had kept around her waist tightened, bowing her body slightly under his as his head dropped to her chest.

Her own head fell back as he cupped one breast in his large, calloused hand and kneaded it, while his mouth fastened over the other.

"Booth. Booth, oh-oh, oh, God, Booth …" She clutched at his dark head harder and harder and laced her fingers through his over her left breast.

"Jesus, that's hot, Bones," Booth groaned, as she showed him exactly how she wanted him to touch her. His learning curve proved to be as steep as hers in this particular area, and he quickly figured out exactly what she liked.

"_Booth_, that feels so good, don't stop …"

"Never. I'll never stop loving you, Bones. Tell me you understand that." He punctuated his demand by finally taking the peak of her right breast in his mouth.

The entire color spectrum of the Aurora Borealis flashed behind Brennan's closed eyelids.

"Tell me, Bones," he insisted, driving her crazy with his lips and teeth. "Tell me you know this will never end."

"Yes," she answered incoherently, not entirely sure she knew what she was agreeing to and not caring.

"Tell me you're mine tonight," Booth whispered, need darkening his tone by an octave. "Just tonight, Bones. Say it again." He lifted his head for the merest fraction of a second, making her shiver with the intensity in his gaze.

"Yours." She gave him what he asked for, without playing games, wanting to give him as much as he was giving her. Wanting to be his in a way she'd never wanted to be anybody's. "Tonight I'm yours, Booth. Yes."

"Ah, Bones." Booth's eyes darkened with emotion. Then his mouth was back on her body, drawing cries of pleasure from her. The light stubble on his jaw only magnified the sensation as he spoke into her skin, his words vibrating through her. "Mine."

He growled the words again and again as he continued to suckle upon each aching breast. "Mine."

Somewhere, with the small part of her brain that was still functioning, Brennan recognized the need for reassurance in his words, and answered it in kind.

"Yes."

Booth groaned into her skin. "Mine," he repeated, the possessive edge to his voice more arousing than Brennan would ever have thought it could be. "Tonight you're all mine, Bones."

"Yes." She yanked his head up, none-too-gently, and fused her lips to his, even as his hands reached for her waist, to push at her unfastened jeans. "Yours."

Her jeans slid down and somehow she managed to step out of them without stumbling too much, even with her arms and mouth all tangled up in Booth. His big hands skimmed up and down her bare legs, trailing over her thighs, as far down to her calves as he could reach while standing, and back up again before he finally pulled his mouth from hers and gazed down at her.

She was too far gone to immediately realize the inherent danger in exactly where his eyes stopped. It was only when he spoke, all traces of lust removed from his tone, that Brennan realized the problem.

Booth knelt again and reached out with a careful hand, touching the faded purple blotch on her left shin. "Where'd you get this bruise, Bones?"

Through a combination of only wearing pants and scheming so that their make out sessions were mostly in the dark, she'd kept him from seeing the injury since the night Joseph showed up at her door, but she hadn't thought far enough ahead, for a change.

Brennan prevaricated. It was against her nature, but she lied to her partner in an attempt to protect him, as much as in an attempt to protect their moment. "I bumped it when I fell off the bed on the plane."

Booth frowned and looked up at her, reproach vividly present in his eyes. "This bruise is at least a week old, Bones. How'd you get hurt?"

She swallowed a lump of fear that lodged suddenly in her throat as she looked down at her partner's beloved face.

"You gave it to me."

He rocked back on his heels, eyes widening as he looked from her bruised leg back to her face again. "Me?"

Brennan took his face in her hands, trying to find words to save the situation. "The night your father visited. You tried to kick him—"

"And you stepped in front of me." Booth finished the sentence for her, his entire gaze deadening at the realization. "How the hell did I not remember that?"

"You weren't yourself, Booth. It was an accident."

"I kicked you." Booth's voice was hollow, and he pulled back from her attempt to embrace him, fingers encompassing the tender spot. "Bones, I'm so sorry."

"Don't." She glared down at him. "Don't ruin this for us, Booth. You made a mistake. Let it go, please."

For a long moment, he stared at the bruise. Then he stood up and pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "You're right. I don't want to ruin this for us, Bones."

"Kiss me," Brennan said into his shoulder. "Kiss me and don't stop this time, Booth."

"Every inch, Bones." Booth's voice was rough with emotion, as he stroked her face and lowered his lips over hers, ending the tender contact long before she was ready for the separation. "There's a whole lot of you I haven't kissed yet."

He knelt again, and pressed a hand into her stomach when she tried to follow him back down. "I want to taste every. Single. Inch." With each word, he kissed his way over her legs, steadying her with a hand on her waist when her knees threatened to buckle. He trailed his way down her legs, finding each sensitive spot with unerring precision. He didn't linger at her bruise, pausing only to press a gentle kiss to the hematoma before continuing onward to her feet.

A laugh burst from her chest as he lifted one foot, and she grabbed at his shoulders to keep her balance as he kissed each toe, chuckling as she squirmed in his firm grip.

"Who knew Temperance Brennan would be so ticklish?" He tormented her sole with an expert index finger.

"Booth!" she laughed, trying hard to get away. "Stop it!"

"Sorry, no can do," he informed her calmly, putting one foot down and starting on the other. "Every inch means every inch, baby."

The warmth spreading across her body like the colors of a sunrise only increased as he started back up her legs, his mouth growing increasingly hot as he lingered on the inside of her thighs, in places he'd avoided the first go round. Just when she thought she'd melt onto the floor of the cabin, he lifted his head and hooked his fingers through the thin straps of her sage panties.

He lifted his head and looked at her in a way that turned her insides to Jell-O. "Every inch, Bones. I'm not finished by a long shot."

She increased her grip on his shoulders as he tugged the sheer fabric down far enough that it slid the remainder of the way to the floor on its own. A log chose that moment to shift in its bed on the fire and crackled loudly, making both of them jump.

They smiled at each other over the rising tide of sexual tension, and Booth lifted one of her hands from his shoulders and kissed her knuckles before dropping his hands to the sides of her thighs and pulling her close.

"I've been dying to taste you, Bones," he said huskily. "Did I say that already?"

He leaned forward and the world around them ceased to exist for Brennan. The cabin, the cold outside, the roaring fire—all gone. All that remained were her partner's hot mouth, his skillful hands, his groans of pleasure as he made her cry out repeatedly, and her matching moans.

"_Booth!"_

"Baby. Bones. Oh, Bones, baby_ …"_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Somehow, Booth managed to get them into the bedroom. Later on he had a vague memory of carrying Brennan, but that may or may not have been true, given her concern for his back after the extended time period he spent on his knees. Then again, she could barely walk herself as a direct result of that extended time Booth had spent kneeling. So neither was particularly steady as they found their way to the back of the cabin.

However it happened, they made it to the threshold of the room and hovered in the doorway, ensconced in each other, but unable to avoid the renewed pang of nervousness at the large bed that loomed before them, and all its implications of finality.

"We're finally here." His words filled the room improbably.

Brennan stepped into the room. Booth's body tightened with painful need at the sight of his beautiful partner completely naked, her soft skin glowing in the light of several flickering candles that he'd placed on a dresser a safe distance from the bed. There would be no accounting for flailing of arms and legs, and the last thing he needed was for the fire raging between them to wind up encompassing the cabin too.

Booth moved into the room with her and closed the door to keep out the draft from the hallway. When he turned back to Brennan and found her devouring him with her eyes, he realized there wasn't much chance of any stray draft extinguishing this blaze.

"I want to see the rest of you, Booth."

He'd deliberately kept his jeans and boxers on throughout the entire first half of their evening together, for fear of going off like a rocket if Brennan got her hands on him before they'd even made it to the bed, but the look on her face told him she was done with being patient.

She reached for him and he closed his eyes as her hands dropped to his waist and she undid the buckle of his belt and reached for the zipper of his jeans.

"G—ahmgm—Jesus, Bones." Booth shuddered as she deliberately tortured him, dragging his jeans ever so slowly downward. "You're killing me …"

Her hands stopped, which was definitely worse than when they'd been moving, given where they were now lingering. "I would be very unhappy if you chose this exact moment to expire, Booth."

He knew that if he opened his eyes, he'd see laughter in hers. The fact that she could laugh in spite of her earlier fear and in spite of the fact that she'd apparently planted live dynamite inside of him, threatening to dangerously ignite if she felt him up any farther, made his eyes roll back into his head.

Apparently taking his silence as permission to continue, Brennan resumed her task, undressing him slowly and pleasantly painfully, until both jeans and boxers were in a pile at his feet. He kicked them aside and stepped back, enjoying the play of Brennan's admiring gaze over him.

He'd been naked with women before. Usually it wasn't their eyes that threatened to be the final tripwire on his self-control. In fact, it was never their eyes. But Brennan wasn't even touching him—all she was doing was standing there, looking him up and down as though he were a particularly interesting bone—and he was ready to go through the roof.

"Like what you see, Bones?" he asked hoarsely, trying to regain control of the situation.

"'Like' is an understatement," Brennan answered. "You are the most physically proportionate naked male I have ever seen."

"Shit, Bones," he said awkwardly, squirming under her scrutiny. "Can we not turn my naked body into a science exhibit?"

"That would involve other people seeing you," she replied, moving towards him purposefully. "Other people including women. I dislike that idea, Booth."

Jealous Brennan was a crazy turn-on, but not nearly as much of a turn-on as naked Brennan moving into the circle of his arms and pressing their naked bodies close together at long last.

Booth's body jerked hard in response to the fulfillment of his long-held fantasy. As aroused as he was, he would almost have been content to just stay like this for the next hour, with her softness pressed against his hardness, her breath whispering across his bare chest where her head rested, wisps of her hair tickling his nose. But Brennan's exploring hands did nothing to help him with that particular fantasy.

"Hey, hey, hey!" He hissed out an alarmed breath and grabbed both her wrists in one hand before they could reach their southern target, pinning them between their chests high above the danger zone. Brennan rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Not yet, Bones."

"I want to touch you," Brennan complained, butting her head against his shoulder. "I'm not the only one who needs to let go, Booth."

Booth shuddered with desire and stroked her bare back in a bid to still his raging lust. He nudged her head up just enough so he could see her blue eyes glinting in the dark.

"I want you to touch me, baby," he said softly. "Don't get the wrong idea. I want your hands on me like you wouldn't believe."

Brennan worried her lower lip with her bottom teeth for a moment, considering. "I would assume that your refusal to allow me to touch you is due to the fact that you have not indulged sufficiently in self-gratification and are thus concerned that you might prematurely—"

"Whoa, hey!" Booth interrupted indignantly. "Nothing premature is going down tonight, Bones. Give me a break! A guy can only take so much after all the time we've waited, and I want this to last. Next round, you can feel me up every which way and I won't complain. Believe me, I definitely will not complain." He closed his eyes for a moment at the thought.

Brennan's hands slipped from his and moved up his chest, where they came to rest on either side of his collarbone, grazing over his hot skin lightly.

With his self-control gone the way of the dinosaurs, he kissed her hard and began walking her backwards toward the bed. Brennan didn't allow him the luxury of stepping back to admire her naked body when the backs of her knees hit the pale blue comforter. She clung to his neck, intent on pulling him down on top of her. He managed to resist just enough to kneel on the bed above her, the bed sinking under their combined weight as Booth pressed her back into the mattress.

His forearms framed her on either side, holding him above her. The heat from the fireplace was partially responsible for the sweat beading his bare upper body. Brennan was responsible for the rest. Her own naked skin was covered in a similar sheen.

She reached up and drew her hands across his rigid abdomen, causing him to jolt upwards in agonized lust. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rolled them both over so swiftly that Brennan gasped as she came to rest above him.

Booth touched her hair, which had somehow managed to stay in its upright and locked position even throughout all the thrashing she'd subjected it to as he explored her body. He stroked the small flyaways at her temples and reached back to undo the chignon.

Her curls tumbled free in a heavy auburn curtain, covering his hands completely. He wrapped one hand in a long, red-gold strand and pulled Brennan gently forward so he could kiss her slowly and thoroughly before turning his attention to the beautiful breasts so temptingly close to his lips.

He pressed her breasts together so he could kiss them simultaneously, then drew one turgid, pale rose peak into his mouth and suckled hard. Brennan's moans drove him halfway insane, just as they had in the living room. He loved hearing her call his name. Typically Brennan, she added orders to her breathless cries, shamelessly telling him what she liked, and that drove him just as crazy.

"Ah. Booth … ohhhhh …. harder … right there … oh God, yes, right there, yes, yes, a little lower, Booth, use your teeth … yesssssss."

He turned them both so she was pinned beneath him again, her eyes wide with desire, her hair spread across the pillow in dark auburn waves. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and Booth sent up a silent prayer request that this would not turn out to be yet another dream.

"Do you want this, Bones?" He had to ask, as afraid as he was of her answer. "Last chance to back out."

She smiled. Seeing her slow grin, he smiled in return, relieved. There were no more weeks to be extended out into months, while they both dealt with their individual fears. This was their moment, and Time stopped in its circuitous tracks to spend a minute watching the couple it had kept apart for so many years.

She laced her fingers through one of his hands, and dragged his head down to hers with the other.

"This heart," she whispered into his lips, her hand splaying across the left side of his chest. "Is it also mine?"

That very same heart stuttered in Booth's chest at her words. "It's been yours from day one, Bones. It always will be."

They devoured each other's mouths as Booth used his free arm to settle her in between his hips and moved forward until he was exactly where he wanted to be. Where he'd always needed to be.

Booth slid forward, never breaking the kiss. In more ways than one, it was the perfect slide into home.

"Oh God, Bones." Booth held completely still, looking deeply into the eyes of the woman he loved. Emotions on a par with seismic waves rocked through him, shaking him to the core of a body already racked with desire.

He'd always wondered what she'd look like at this exact moment, and now he knew. All his blabber about making love—stuff he'd spoken and believed, but never experienced—finally came true in the arms of Temperance Brennan. The woman who thought she lacked the capacity to love was looking at him with so much love that it was like a tidal wave, rushing over Booth with the promise of never allowing him to surface again. He wanted to drown right here, right now, in her ocean eyes, and never leave this moment. Never wake from this dream.

Her legs locked around his hips, drawing him deeper inside and Booth choked, "You're everything. This is— I've never—it's—Incredible, Bones—everything."

"All at once." Brennan anchored herself closer to him by locking her arms around his neck. "Forever."

The words finally made sense to both of them.

Booth moved ever so slightly, drawing a moan from Brennan. She raked her nails down his back just enough to draw an aroused hiss from him. He rocked his hips against hers again, and received a similar reaction, and again and again, making the old bed creak beneath them and carrying them closer and closer to the wall until his partner was writhing beneath him, screaming his name every bit as loudly as she'd promised, but possibly not as loudly as he cried out hers.

"Bones! Bones, oh God, baby—this is—ahhhh—Temperance ... Jesus, you're amazing, baby—oh God, _Joy!_"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

***bites fingernails nervously* Did you like it? (Yes, there will be an explanation for 'Joy' in the next chapter.)**

**As for the story's length after this chapter—I'm going to see us through both Booth and Brennan's vacations, which should take us to around 70 or 72. We're back to our regular schedule of one chapter each Thursday. Even though "The Moment" has now happened, perhaps you would deign to follow me just a little bit longer? Thank you in advance to anybody who takes the time to let me know their thoughts on "Week 6." =)**

**Next chapter preview: The morning after. A revelation for Brennan. And heroic Booth, putting himself in harm's way … (just a little. Really. Minor, ****minor ****angst only, I promise.)**


	66. Aftershock

**A/N: Turns out, the full explanation for "Joy" will be in the next chapter or two. It just didn't fit well in here, although it's briefly mentioned. This chapter is largely (but not completely) fluffy. **

**I'm running out of ways to say thank you, so I'll keep it simple: **_** Thank you**_**, Eternal Destiny for keeping me thinking positive and writing, in spite of this very long, hard week. =)**

**There's lots of good stuff in her latest **_**Conclusion in the Psychology **_**update, so I strongly recommend a visit.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He called her given name as he pushed them both up and over the edge, sending Brennan into a tandem freefall that ended only as her partner's large body collapsed on top of her. He tried immediately to roll away, protecting her as always.

"Stay," she ordered, amazed she could still form words. She wrapped her arms around him to make sure he didn't move.

He groaned and obeyed, resting his head beside hers on the comforter, his broad shoulders heaving.

Brennan's own breathing remained erratic for several minutes, as she came down from the high he'd taken her to. She stroked Booth's hair with one hand, and traced the muscles of his back with the other. The feel of his full, naked weight upon her was one she'd fantasized about for years, but it turned out her expectations had fallen far short of reality. Nothing could have prepared her for how good it felt to have her partner's sweat-damp body on top of hers.

"Bones, I'm crushing you." Booth's muscles tensed in an attempt to lift him away and Brennan tightened her grip around him.

"I like being crushed by you," she informed him.

He sighed and relaxed over her again, his arms sliding beneath her waist to lift her closer into him. The sensation of his solid muscles contracting above her sent another small shockwave of pleasure through Brennan. She murmured in approval and wrapped herself around him even tighter.

Booth pressed his face into her neck. "Bones, that was—I can't even describe what that was." He lifted his head and looked at her with a question in his eyes. "Right?"

"The experiment succeeded beyond anything either one of us could have expected," Brennan replied, smiling at his masculine vulnerability.

He grinned arrogantly, seamlessly switching gears from vulnerable to cocky. "I expected it. Oh, yeah, baby. Hand over the Squint of the Year award. I am one badass scientist."

She poked him in the ribs. "Being a scientist requires some kind of a degree, Booth."

"I got one," he bragged. "A degree in making Temperance Brennan scream like a banshee."

"What university awarded your PhD, Dr. Booth?" she asked in amusement.

"The University of I'm-A-Genius," Booth answered, waggling his eyebrows. "A genius for figuring out how to make my partner completely lose it."

Brennan rolled her eyes, wanting to be annoyed but finding it hard to do for some reason. "The experiment was my idea originally."

"Admit it, Bones. I blew your mind."

"I fully intend to retaliate," she reminded him. "Then we'll decide who gets your imaginary 'Squint of the Year' award."

He grinned even more widely, unfairly adding to his already exceedingly handsome looks. "Is that a challenge, Bones?"

"Yes."

"So if I win, what do I get, besides a degree? 'Cause you know I'm gonna win, Bones. I've got a big head start. Tonight's still all mine, remember?"

She remembered and, given that neither of them was apparently even remotely inclined toward going to sleep yet, she was fairly certain that before long Booth would be taking full advantage of his 'head start.' That awareness made her senses tingle in anticipation.

She mulled over his question for a moment, all the while gliding her hands over his perfect chest. "It's doubtful that you will win, given my own expertise in matters of a sexual and scientific nature. However, I will consider what you could conceivably win and let you know later. What about my prize when I win?"

"_If _you win," he corrected, lowering his head to her breast and unfairly distracting her from the conversation. "And I'll tell you, when you tell me."

The man was overtly talented, Brennan thought fuzzily as she gave herself over more than willingly to his hands and lips.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He wasn't a kid anymore, but God help him, even after three times Booth couldn't keep his hands off Brennan. The knowledge that he could reach out and touch her, kiss her, make love to her as often as he wanted to, gave him a rush on par with the high gambling used to give him. Except he couldn't gamble anymore, so he indulged this new addiction to its full extent. Brennan didn't seem to mind. If he didn't reach for her, she reached for him.

Their third time found them sprawled on the rug in front of the smoldering fireplace, which turned out to be a really bad idea, given the tiny embers that occasionally escaped from a log and landed on Booth's bare skin, making him curse loudly. None of them hit Brennan, because he was on top of her again. She apparently really liked that position, even though he had worried she might find it tame in comparison to whatever else she'd done before he came along.

Brennan kissed his singed shoulder. "Poor baby," she murmured wickedly, then bit him.

He yelped in protest. "Hey! We already had dinner!"

Her throaty chuckle precipitated a fourth time, this one on the couch at a safer distance from the fire, with her on top of him.

Watching Brennan come apart at the seams, in the best way possible, would forever remain in the top five of Booth's list of favorite things. The rosy flush that colored her face all the way down to the tops of her breasts, the heavy-lidded blue eyes and parted lips, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, her loud moans and stage-directing—Booth decided he had died and gone to heaven, and this was his reward for being as good a man as he knew how to be, regardless of what Catholic doctrine might say about nonbelievers. Heaven without Brennan would be hell and he wasn't walking through those Pearly Gates without her.

Brennan slumped forward over him, her body coming to rest flush with his. He held her close, regaining his own breath.

"You wanna go to sleep, Bones?" He combed his fingers through her tangled hair. "We've got another nine days."

"No!" She sat up quickly, making him groan as she shifted her position on his lap. "I don't want this night to end, Booth."

He chuckled, enjoying this new view of her with the dying firelight glinting off her auburn hair, casting aspersions of light on her bare skin. "I think the sun is probably already rising."

"I don't want it to end, Booth."

She was trying to delay the morning after. Of that, Booth was almost certain. But he gave in willingly to her desire to prolong their sleeplessness a little longer.

"You wanna take a walk?" he asked, playing with the ends of her hair. "Maybe watch the sun rise, if it hasn't already?"

Brennan nodded. "I'd like that."

"It'll be cold outside," he warned. "Early mornings here feel even cooler than late evenings."

"You'll keep me warm," Brennan replied with a smile, climbing off of him and retrieving her bra from where they'd discarded it on the floor quite a few hours ago.

"Put a sweater on anyway," he called after her. He remained in his reclined position on the couch for a long moment, pulling himself back together before rising to follow her into the bedroom.

He pulled on his jeans as she rummaged in her suitcase for the blouse she'd been wearing before she put on her cobalt-and-buttons show for him.

She located the black tee and straightened, reaching for the green bra she'd dropped on the edge of the rumpled bed.

"Hang on, Bones." He buttoned his jeans and walked over to her, taking the bra from her fingers. "I don't always undress you in my fantasies. He twirled his index finger to indicate she should turn around.

She did and he slid the bra on for her, fastening the clasp low on her back below a small mole she had that he found mouthwatering. He took the opportunity to cup her breasts, running his thumbs over the lace that now hid them from his view.

Brennan reclined against him, reaching back with one arm to tug his head down for a kiss hot enough that it promised to derail their walk by at least another hour if Booth didn't put a stop to it. He pulled away regretfully and grabbed his shirt as Brennan slid hers on.

While she piled on layers of sweaters, he headed back into the living room to put on his shoes and to roust up a cup of something warm for them to carry with them as they walked. By the time she showed up in the kitchen ten minutes later, he had two cups of coffee waiting for them with improvised Styrofoam lids from some long ago party.

"It's pretty awful," he apologized as he handed her a mug. "But I figured we both needed the caffeine."

"It's not Kopi Luwak," she acknowledged after a long sip, mocking his horrified reaction to her exotic blend.

Booth grimaced at the memory. "Very funny, Dr. Brennan."

He shrugged on his jacket, grabbed his backpack with emergency supplies, just in case, then held the door open for Brennan.

It was still dark outside, albeit a much lighter dark than the inky blackness they'd driven through to get to the cabin. The sky was light enough that they could at least make out the silhouette of trees in the distance.

Cold didn't begin to describe how frigid the Arctic temperature was. Booth's lungs contracted in his chest, rebelling at the onslaught of freezing air.

"You sure you wanna walk right now, Bones?"

"Maybe I'll need to keep _you _warm." Brennan stuffed her free hand into his coat pocket. He slid his hand inside and laced his fingers with hers.

Booth led the way down the steps and toward a nearby hill he remembered from past visits. A flock of geese squawked boisterously as they flew in V-formation overhead, drawing simultaneous smiles from the partners.

"Guess they followed us here, Bones."

"Hot coffee should prove a deterrent if we are attacked," she replied, playing along even though he knew she probably wanted to make some kind of squinty comment about their migratory patterns.

"But there's only enough coffee for one or two geese," he pointed out, squeezing her hand. "What happens when it runs out, Bones? Are you gonna bail on me again?"

"I did not bail," Brennan shot back. "You were the one who ran away and left me to be pecked to death."

"Funny. Isn't the guy the one who's usually henpecked?" He joked, realizing even as he said it that she wouldn't understand the idiom. "It means harried, Bones. Hassled. Like, the woman yells at him all day long to do chores and stuff."

She rubbed her thumb over his fingers. "If we ever move in together, Booth, are you expecting to be henpecked?"

"A little," he conceded. "You're a neatnik. I've still got my Army habits, so I'm not bad, but I don't keep my floors so clean that Hodgins might not be able to find the occasional interesting particle. So you're really thinking about us sharing a place, Bones?" The thought made him as nervous as it made him happy.

They walked in silence for a while as she mulled over his question, their strides getting shorter as they started uphill. Booth paused to set down his empty mug and hers, on a rock where they could collect them on the way back.

"I still think we need a concrete goal," Brennan said, as they resumed walking. "Moving in together seems like a plausible next step."

He decided not to ask her whose place they would move into. That was an argument he already knew he would lose, and he didn't want to have it at this particular moment in time.

"So you want to set a timed goal again?" he asked.

"I would like that," she answered, "As long as we agree the goal can be moved if we're not ready for that step when it arrives."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "You wanna say maybe two months?"

"So long as they don't turn into Six Weeks," Brennan grinned, focusing more on the terrain as the incline grew steeper.

They stopped holding hands in order to skirt their way around several large boulders that blocked the path, helping each other climb over the icy rocks and down through a number of miniature canyons, probably caused by wind erosion.

They reached the summit of the hill just as the sun began to rise. Booth opened his backpack and pulled out a small ziplock bag. As Brennan watched, he extracted the emergency thermal blanket, which could be compressed into a tiny square that occupied no more than a handful of space, and unfolded it to its considerable size.

He sat down on an enormous rock and beckoned her over. "Sit on my lap, Bones. It's warmer than the rock."

"I would agree that your lap is quite warm." Brennan's eyes glinted with innuendo that made Booth's body tighten impossibly again with the need for her.

He pulled her onto his knee, then wrapped the foil sheet around them snugly. She leaned back against him with a contented sigh as bands of red and orange pushed aside the curtain of night.

Once it started, the sun rose remarkably fast, illuminating the landscape. They weren't quite above the treeline, so technically the rocky, grassy swathes of land below them weren't tundra yet. Tall trees with spindly limbs dotted the terrain, giving way to further dips and rises caused by retreating glaciers. The sky was bluer here than any place Booth had ever been, its vast expanse somehow magnified by the low temperatures and sparse surroundings. Patches of bright pink and yellow highlighted the hardy wildflowers that somehow still managed to survive in this harsh environment.

Booth pointed at a boggy area, glistening in the new light of day and surrounded by Black Spruce trees. "That's Muskeg. It's kind of like Canada's version of a swamp. A guy who trekked out with me here once told me the bogs are 10,000 years old. The moss the Muskeg is made of can absorb up to thirty times its weight in water, which means you definitely don't want to fall into it."

"You continue to surprise me with your interests," she commented. "Up until Angela's shopping trip, I would not have guessed your vacation to be of the outdoor variety, Booth, in spite of your dates."

"Yeah?" he said curiously. "Where'd you think I was taking you, Bones? I know you said you thought it might be on a beach. Did you expect a big city?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. You didn't seem to enjoy our trip to the country," she reminded him, referring to the case where human remains had been found within a bear.

"I didn't enjoy it because you were one of what, like, three women in the place?" Booth answered dryly. "Every guy in town wanted a piece of you, Bones. I was just a little jealous."

"We weren't in a romantic or sexual relationship at the time," Brennan, predictably, pointed out. "So your feelings of jealousy were at odds with the situation. I had no interest in those men but, at the time, I also had no interest in you."

He winced at her blunt speech. "Not even a little, Bones?"

"I found you physically attractive," she conceded. "But, had there been other aesthetically appealing women in the bar, which there weren't, I would not have been jealous then because I had no claim over you."

"You do now," Booth said quietly.

"Is that why you brought me out here?" Brennan asked, ignoring his comment. "There are no other men around us."

"No other women either," he retorted. "I brought you out here because I know you like the outdoors, Bones. And I do too, even if I prefer living in a city."

Brennan turned to look at him with an unfamiliar glint in her eyes. "I appreciate your consideration for my preferences. And I've discovered something about myself, Booth."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for whatever bombshell she was going to drop on him this time.

"Inasmuch as you laid claim to my body last night, I claimed yours."

Booth barely had time to process that little gem, before Brennan continued,

"I would not like there to be other women around just now, Booth." Her voice had a definite edge to it. "While I trust you completely, at this moment in our relationship I'm enjoying the awareness that you are also mine."

He maneuvered her legs around underneath the blanket, so she was sitting sideways, and wrapped an arm around her waist so he could hold her upright, even as he pushed her back far enough for him to look her full in the face.

"You sayin' I'm yours, Bones?" he asked softly, wanting confirmation for the words his ears still couldn't quite believe.

Brennan nodded slowly. "I don't understand my sudden possessiveness. But, yes, Booth. In a manner beyond our partnership, I consider you mine."

"Red hot, Bones," Booth whispered, bringing his face close to hers. "That is red hot, baby. So hot that I'm not even feeling the damn wind anymore."

Then she kissed him and any remaining parts of his body that were still cold heated up really quickly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Far removed from prying eyes, Brennan was pleased to discover that her partner was surprisingly uninhibited. For example, he didn't protest in the slightest when she urged his hands underneath her clothes, enjoying the contrast of his warm fingers to the coolness of her skin.

And he definitely didn't complain when she followed suit, unzipping his jacket and sliding her hands under his shirt onto the sculpted planes of his chest. She still hadn't gotten her fill of touching him, although he'd allowed her free access to his body after he'd gotten past his fear of not 'lasting.' Brennan secretly suspected she'd never get her fill, even if that was an irrational notion.

Booth reached back and unfastened her bra, so he could more easily stroke under her shirt, then shoved her shirt up and maneuvered until he somehow managed to kiss her breasts while still keeping them under the surprisingly warm blanket. She retaliated in kind by heading directly south toward the zipper of his jeans. Finally, she got a more typical Booth reaction as she unsnapped the button of Levis.

"Bones," he gasped, jumping as she deliberately grazed her fingers over the seam of his jeans. "Ah, Bones, not here."

"Why not?" she asked, not stopping her increasingly bold caresses.

"B—_whoa_, Bones—because we're-oh God, Bones, what the hell are you doing-we're outside!"

"I don't think the geese will complain." Brennan removed her hands only long enough to slide down her own jeans.

"We'll freeze," Booth warned, putting up no resistance in spite of his words.

"I'm not freezing," Brennan murmured, lifting up and settling back down over him with a sigh.

Booth groaned and rested his hands on her waist, helping to stabilize her on the uneven ground as she began to rock back and forth on him. "You're gonna kill me, Bones."

"Are you backing down from a challenge, Agent Booth?"

His eyes darkened. "No way."

He leaned back onto the flat surface of the rock, pulling her forward with him and simultaneously moving his own hips in a way that made her gasp.

"That's right, Bones," he said with a satisfied grin. "Anytime, anywhere. I'm that good—gahhhhh."

Brennan smiled at his reaction when she tightened her lithe muscles around him, effectively ending his bragging.

"I should warn you that I have every intention of emerging the victor in this challenge, Booth."

His heated response gave her every indication that he was planning on putting up one hell of a fight.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She was fighting sleep tooth and nail. Booth could see it as he steered them back toward the cabin, practically carrying Brennan by the time they were halfway there. Her eyes drooped so low that he could see the full spread of her long lashes. He'd seen her tired, but never to this extent. Even when she was recovering from almost freezing to death on the side of the road, Brennan had been steadier on her feet than she was now. She was punch drunk with lack of sleep.

So was Booth, for that matter. He hadn't had 8 hours of shut eye since his attempt to take her out on a fancy date. Starting with staying up half the night with her in the recliner, and then staying up most of the rest of the night in her bed after his foiled escape attempt, to the sleepless night in Arizona where he'd stayed up and watched her as she snored lightly, to tonight when he'd gotten no sleep at all, he'd barely gotten four hours of rest in 48 hours. If it hadn't been for the long nap on the plane and his habit of reaching back to his Army days for stamina when it was most needed, he would have collapsed long ago. And still Brennan continued to hem and haw, trying to create distractions that would keep them out of bed.

Finally, Booth stopped them about a quarter of a mile from the cabin and turned to Brennan, whose head was already drooping to her chest. She looked ridiculously cute, and equally petulant, as she warred with Morpheus.

"Give it up, Bones. Morning's here and we're still okay."

She blinked up at him and stifled a huge yawn, apparently too tired to argue with him.

"We're okay," he repeated. "C'mon, Smurfette. Our bed is screaming my name as loudly as you were earlier."

"I don't like 'baby,'" Bones muttered, stumbling over her own feet as she struggled to follow him. "I do like 'Smurfette,' although I am presently too tired to analyze exactly why."

He grinned. "Good to know, Bones."

He tucked his arm around her and guided her forward, making sure she didn't do a faceplant on the muddy earth by skidding on a patch of loose gravel or tripping over an unexpected rock. When the cabin came into view, he gave up and swung her up into his arms in spite of her protests.

"Bed, Bones," he yawned. "Gotta get you to bed."

His own feet weren't much steadier than hers, but he managed to get them safely up the steps and into the cabin. He deposited Brennan on the bed, peeled off her clothes and wrestled her into a flannel nightgown that was definitely not one of Angela's purchases. There was nothing sexy about the granny look, but Brennan managed to pull it off anyway, batting her blue eyes and mumbling incoherent nothings as he urged her under the covers.

Booth felt guilty for a minute about how completely he'd worn her out, then decided she probably wasn't too upset. He trekked back outside to gather up more logs, built the fire back up so the cabin would be warm whenever they woke up next, and finally staggered back to the bedroom on his last legs.

She was still awake. Bleary-eyed, sitting up against a stack of piled pillows, her ridiculous nightgown zipped up all the way to her throat, she had somehow managed to cling to consciousness just long enough for him to shed his own clothes and crawl into bed beside her.

"Commando," she sighed randomly, curling up into him. "I approve, Booth."

The flannel didn't feel near as good as her naked skin, but he pulled her close anyway, enjoying her sleepy murmurs and the way she wriggled even closer.

"Night, Bones."

Her response was a snore.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Day 2 of 10**

He had no idea what time it was when he finally woke up. The room was dark and, to his dismay, he found the spot beside him empty. He scanned the room in the vain hope that his partner might be lurking somewhere in the shadows.

"Bones?"

A moment later, she appeared in the doorway of the cabin, still wearing the same damn nightgown.

"What's with the vanishing act?" he complained. "I wanted to wake up with you in my arms."

She returned to the bed and slid in beside him. "A loud noise woke me and I went to investigate."

He frowned. "Why didn't you let me know, Bones? There's definitely wildlife out here. Some of it has pretty big teeth."

"That assessment is surprisingly accurate. When I opened the door, I surprised a passing wolverine."

Booth scrambled upright, incensed. "Dammit, Bones! You should've said something!"

"I just did," she replied calmly, twisting and turning under the covers awkwardly. "The wolverine presented no danger to me, Booth. It was chasing what looked like a hare."

He sank back down, muttering under his breath disgustedly. "I take my girlfriend on a romantic vacation and she winds up getting torn to shreds by wolverines."

"I wasn't torn to shreds," Brennan sighed, sitting up. "Sometimes your protective instincts run amok, Booth. Why can't I get comfortable?"

"It might have something to do with that gown," Booth said archly. "It was freezing when we went to bed, Bones, but I'm pretty toasty right about now. You're probably cooking underneath that thing. What time is it, anyway?"

"It's 1:15. We've slept about 12 hours."

And he was still tired.

"You wanna rest a little more?" he asked. "Maybe set the alarm for an hour, and then eat?"

"I'm awake, Booth." She unzipped her gown and shrugged it down to her hips, smiling. "Our second day is half gone already. Would you really like to go back to sleep?"

"I'm good," Booth answered hastily, sitting up and reaching for her warm, bare body. "Real good, Bones."

Her smile should have warned him something was up, but he was apparently still halfway asleep.

She easily evaded his hands. "Our first night is over, Booth. Meaning you're no longer in charge." Brennan pulled back the covers and eyed him like he was some kind of prime cut of steak. "I haven't done nearly enough touching."

He flopped back onto the pillows with a happy sigh. "Go to town, Bones. I'm all about being felt up by sexy squints."

"I dislike your use of the plural for squints."

"Huh?" Her words might have made more sense if Brennan hadn't been busily running her hands all over him.

Brennan paused in her exploration of his abs and this time he sensed the danger right in time to see it blow up in his face.

Booth shouted as she bit the inside of his thigh none-too-gently. "Bones, what the hell?"

She soothed his wounded skin—and ego—with a softer kiss. "The plural form implies you've been 'felt up' by more than one squint, Booth."

Shit. Booth realized his slip up too late.

"That's not what I-IIIIIIIIIIIII, dammit, Bones," he gasped desperately as she nipped at him again. "I'm all about being felt up by **one **sexy squint. Okay?"

"Which sexy squint, Booth?" she inquired from somewhere perilously close to his nether regions, where teeth and nails could do serious damage.

"You!" Booth exclaimed. "Only you, Bones."

Jealous Brennan was not only arousing as hell, she was flat out dangerous.

Brennan smiled at him and leaned forward to kiss the center of his chest. "Good answer, Booth."

Relieved, he was just beginning to relax into the bed again when her sharp teeth closed over one of his nipples.

"Now what?" he yelped, not entirely unhappy with her aggression. He'd always known Brennan would have this side to her, and some of his fantasies had definitely entertained the notion of her making a snack out of him.

"You kept me waiting four months, Booth." Brennan lifted up to glare at him. "I intend to seek revenge."

He might have mentioned she kept him waiting six years, but figured now was a dangerous moment to bring up past sins. Besides. Her form of revenge was one Booth could live with for a good long while. Say, seventy or eighty years. Or, forever, maybe. Forever was good, definitely …

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

By the time they made it out of bed and threw together a decent meal with supplies from the icebox, it was almost 4:00.

"We've got to get up way earlier tomorrow," Booth told her as he dug into a thick ham sandwich. "I've got something I want to show you that's pretty far away. We'll drive out halfway, and then hike the rest. If you like it, we can camp out a couple of nights."

"Are you implying we should also go to bed earlier?" Brennan forked up a large helping of the wild lettuce, feta, walnuts and cranberries that Booth had made sure their makeshift larder was stocked with. His thoughtfulness was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. "Because I have no intention of going to bed early, Booth."

Brennan had been pleasantly surprised at how willingly he ceded control to her earlier. She'd felt slightly guilty after jumping him so aggressively, given his penchant for slow and tender, but he hadn't complained at all.

"You can keep me up as late as you want, Bones." He took a long swallow from a beer. "Just as long I get to wake you up in my own way, when you're clinging to the covers tomorrow morning."

She liked the sound of that.

They ate silently for a few minutes, minutes which Brennan efficiently utilized to observe her partner as he propped his elbows on the table and devoured his first meal of the day. He wore a gray FBI tee that she had always found particularly appealing, both because of its relatively snug fit across his pectorals and biceps, as much as because of the logo emblazoned across the chest, reminding her of everything Booth stood for—Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.

Increasingly she was aware that she would find him attractive whether or not he sustained the hard physique that she found so appealing—even more so now that she was allowed to uncover and explore it whenever she so chose. Nevertheless, as much as he enjoyed food, she mused to herself, it was a good thing he had a natural inclination toward sports. She enjoyed reaping the benefits of his good looks and athletic ability in bed.

Booth spoke suddenly over a large mouthful. "Enjoying the view, Bones?"

His warm brown eyes glinted with self-satisfied amusement.

"I would appreciate it more if you removed your shirt," she replied bluntly, not in the least embarrassed to be caught ogling him.

"If I do that, we'll never leave the cabin. And I didn't pack as many clean clothes in my carry-on as you did, Bones." He waved his sandwich at her for emphasis, before finishing off the last bite and reaching for another monster-size creation. "So unless you want me naked for the rest of the break, Dr. Brennan, we need to head out to the Jeep."

"You are hunting for compliments," she informed him. "If you weren't my boyfriend and partner, I might find your arrogance aggravating."

"Fishing," he corrected with a grin, tapping her toe under the table with his foot. "Fishing for compliments, Bones. C'mon. Just say you think I'm hot." He bit into his second sandwich, this one piled high with cuts of deli meat and cheese

Brennan shook her head in amused derision and refused to play his game, even though she could easily have detailed each portion of his anatomy that she found eminently attractive and physically satisfying.

"It's not awkward, Booth," she noted, surprised. "Is it?"

"Nope. We're still us, Bones, only better." He took another big bite of the sandwich. "Told ya."

Brennan pushed back from the table, deciding she was hungry for more than salad at the moment. She walked around to her partner's side and he glanced up at her curiously. Taking the sandwich from his fingers, she set it aside and squeezed in between the table and his chair, nudging him back so she could settle down on top of his lap, facing him.

"Aren't you gonna eat, Bones?" Booth glanced at her barely touched meal. "Was the salad bad or something?"

"The salad was fine," she replied, scooting forward until she was chest to chest with him.

He draped his arms loosely around her and gave her a classic Booth smile. "Hungry for somethin' else, Bones?"

"I got you a musical Valentine for last night," she informed him, reaching into her pocket and handing him a slip of paper. "It's by my favorite musical group, Great Big Sea. Their skillful instrumentation and well-crafted lyrics off-set the more trite, amusingly ribald ballads they sing. "

Booth unfolded the paper and read the title. "_Walk on the Moon." _He slid it into his own pocket. "Ribald ballads, huh? Thanks, Bones. I'll look it up when we get back to civilization."

"I'm going to make an irrational statement," Brennan warned him, sliding her arms around his neck. "I'm aware that it is irrational, nevertheless, I find myself compelled to express the sentiment."

Booth slid his hands under her shirt, lightly running his fingers across her lower back. "Shoot."

"We've only been on vacation a day and a half, and I find myself already thinking about our return to Washington."

His warm palms smoothed their way over her spine. "Maybe I'm not doing a good enough job of distracting you."

"On the contrary," she corrected. "You are distracting me exceedingly well. I'm aware you don't like to hear about my previous relationships, Booth, but I need to use my relationship with Sully as a comparison point in order to explain."

Booth pulled the neckline of her shirt aside. "Go ahead."

"I can't talk when you're doing that." She sighed, partly in pleasure, partly in frustration as he pressed his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

He began to slowly kiss his way across her bare shoulder. "Want me to stop?"

"No." She tilted her head sideways to give him easier access. "I will attempt to compartmentalize."

"You do that, Bones," Booth whispered into her skin.

"When Sully and I were d—right there, Booth—when he and were—that feels so good." She closed her eyes, as he kissed his way up to her ear and nibbled at the sensitive lobe.

Booth pressed his lips to the tender spot directly behind her ear. "When you and Sully were …"

"When he and I were dating, I realized for the first—" She trailed off again, as he kissed the inner shell of her ear. The combination of sound and sensation was arousing to the extreme.

"You like that?" Booth repeated the kiss and made her moan again. "I love finding all the spots that get you hot, Bones."

"That spot has never gotten me 'hot' before," she answered, gasping as he moved around to the other ear. "I find your use of the slang unusually apropos, given the concurrent rise in my body temperature as you are kissing me."

He chuckled so close to her ear that she shivered pleasantly. "That's 'cause I'm good, Bones. You know it."

Realizing it was hopeless to try and converse while Booth's talented mouth was working its metaphorical magic, she tugged away when he attempted to resume his activities.

"What I was trying to say," she began again, ignoring the overt lust in her partner's eyes, "Is that after Sully and I slept together for the first time, I realized that I didn't want to go into work the next day. I wanted to remain in bed with him."

He grimaced. "Way too much detail there, Bones."

"However," she continued, "I find that my irrational desire in this situation extends beyond the confines of the Jeffersonian. I find myself contemplating never returning to DC and remaining permanently here, with you. Like this."

"That's not irrational, Bones." He kissed her mouth very softly, smiling at her with his eyes. "I feel the same way."

"It's not real, Booth." She couldn't pull away a second time. The tenderness with which he was holding her, with his arms and his eyes and his lips, was as stimulating as any of their previous rounds of more aggressive foreplay. "We have to go back."

"Sure," he agreed, caressing the back of her neck, even as he stroked her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. "But the cabin's not going anywhere, Bones. We can always take a vacation here. Maybe bring Parker along, if you're okay with that."

"I would enjoy having Parker accompany us. But I was referring more to the reality that we both have to face. We'll be going back to work. The experiment will have ended. We can't continue in this aroused state permanently." Brenna gave in and parted her lips, sinking into the kiss.

He was the one to pull back this time, regarding her seriously. "That's where you're wrong, Bones. Way wrong. Just because we're back at work fulltime doesn't mean I won't want to kiss you every second of the day, even if that's not exactly practical. It just means when I do get a chance to kiss you, it'll be that much hotter."

She smiled at the thought. "You'll be too busy to think of me every second, Booth. But Angela would be willing to lend us her office and its blinds for the occasional kiss."

"Yeah, I think Ange would definitely be real happy to help out that way." He grinned and grazed his lips over her temple. "Plus, we'll be dating, Bones. Like I told you, that's not gonna change."

"You don't need to continue with the elaborate preparations. You've already seduced me, Booth."

"I didn't set up all those dates just to get you into bed, Bones."

"The purpose of the experiment was for us to ultimately engage in sexual intercourse. Therefore, the dates served as a tool of seduction," she argued.

"Gee, thanks, Bones," he said sarcastically, leaning back in the chair away from her and crossing his arms. His brows knit together in obvious offense. "And here I thought I was coming up with all those dates because I like surprising you."

"Would you have dated me if there was no experiment or promise of ultimate sexual gratification?" Brennan challenged.

"You already know the answer to that," he shot back. "Now who's fishing?"

She had to admit, she was hoping for a little reassurance, even though he'd made his feelings repeatedly clear, and her desire to hear him continue to voice them was both irrational and emotionally immature. Irritated at herself, she began to stand up, intent on putting some distance between herself and the unwitting source of her humiliation.

Booth shifted his weight, dropping the chair from two feet back to four feet and leaned in, effectively trapping her between the table and his body.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Let me go," she warned, bristling.

"Or what, Bones?" he demanded. "You'll bite me? You already did that a few times today, and I don't remember minding."

"I mean it, Booth." She braced her hands against his chest, preparing to push him away.

He caught her hands in his and shook his head. "You enjoyed those dates as much as I did, Bones, and I think you would've gone on them with me even if there wasn't any experiment. Why is so hard for you to admit you like being with me, sex or no sex?"

There it was again. His own need for reassurance mirrored hers.

Brennan stopped struggling. Booth looked up at her through narrowed eyes, not giving any quarter. She searched for the right words to reassure them both.

"For six years, we had an excellent relationship based on many factors other than sex, Booth. Though the formal dates did serve as a vehicle for eventual sexual consummation, in another way they were simply an extension of our partnership."

He frowned. "What are you trying to say, Bones?"

"We frequently ate dinner and spent time together as partners. The acknowledged dates simply were the next step."

"Are you saying—"

The realization was suddenly so blatantly obvious that Brennan was surprised she hadn't come to the same conclusion much earlier.

"If we phrase our relationship in societally conventional terms, meaning that a man and a woman who spend extended time in each other's company and are physically attracted to each other are highly likely to be romantically involved, whether or not sex enters the equation, then you and I have been dating a lot longer than four months, Booth."

The tension drained from his face, replaced with one of his softer smiles, the kind that left Brennan feeling distinctly content at being the sole recipient of its warmth.

"Took you a while to figure that one out, Genius. That 'just partners' stuff? It was always baloney."

"I don't know how processed meat is relevant to our conversation," Brennan said in confusion.

He scooted back just enough so she could sit back down. When she did, he took her firmly by the waist and lifted her in closer to him, so they were sitting nose to nose. "You and I have never been 'just' anything, Bones. Ever."

"But you were dating other people when we first became partners," she pointed out.

"And how long did that last?" Booth asked wryly. "Tessa didn't appreciate my staying out till 3:00 am every night with another woman, Bones. 'Societal conventions' told her very clearly that you and I were dating, even though she and I were the ones sleeping together."

"Was she a good sexual partner?" Brennan asked, knowing he wouldn't appreciate the question, but desiring an answer nonetheless.

"She was fine. But that's all she was, Bones," he answered. "Just a sexual partner. Not like us, Bones. You and me—we're way beyond fine. We're the real deal, Smurfette." He smiled. "You said you liked that better than baby, right?"

"I do," she admitted. His newly acquired habit of nicknaming her for the diminutive cartoon characters she'd had a fondness for as a child was surprisingly endearing. "Even though I still don't understand your preference for nicknames, rather than my given name."

"I called you Joy the first time," he reminded her quietly. "I don't know why, Bones. It just felt right."

"'Joy' is fine," she replied, still not ready to discuss the emotions that hearing her birth name on his lips had stirred up. "It would have proved unfortunately comical if you had referred to me as Smurfette in the heat of passion."

Booth threw his head back and laughed loudly, sending pinions of warmth through her at his approval of her joke. "Ha! Good one, Bones. Okay, no Smurfs in bed."

Feeling more confident than usual about being silly, she continued, "I could call you Vanity Smurf."

"Ha—huh?" Booth glared at her. "No way, Bones. You can't nickname me after a Smurf!"

"Why not?" she asked reasonably. "You've named me after a Smurf. What's the difference?"

"You don't name guys after Smurfs, Bones," he said with exaggerated sarcasm. "You just don't, okay?"

"I fail to see the distinction. Vanity took great pride in his appearance, like you, Booth."

"Hey, I am not vain!" he protested.

"$2000 suits?" she suggested mildly. "And you yourself said I am not like Smurfette, Booth, yet you continue to refer to me by her name."

"The suits are important for the job, Bones. They send a message that I mean business, okay? And if you don't like Smurfette, I can call you Brainy."

"If you call me Brainy, I will call you Vanity," Brennan said, enjoying the unusual advantage she had in the one department she could never win an argument with Booth.

"So what do you want, Bones?" Booth muttered, sounding distinctly disgruntled. "No more Smurfette, fine. Or baby, if it bugs you that much. Geez."

She grinned. "I told you, I like Smurfette, though I'm not sure why. And I have a small confession to make."

"What?" he grumbled, pretending not to feel her fingers as they pushed up his T-shirt and began to roam across his abs.

Changing strategies, she caught his collar and yanked his mouth close to hers. Booth made an exaggerated choking sound as she twisted the collar of his shirt. She ignored his theatrics and leaned in until her lips hovered just over his. "So long as we are in bed, I don't mind being called baby."

Brennan swallowed his gleeful, surprised exclamation into her mouth, successfully distracting him from any further conversation for the next 30 or so minutes.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The woman was insatiable and Booth was a lucky, lucky man to be on the receiving end of her aggressive physical affection. He reluctantly relinquished his hold on his partner's waist as they finally made it to the rowboat.

"Why do you carry that backpack everywhere?" Brennan asked, as she helped him shove off the river bank.

He patted his battered rucksack,a veteran of more than one camping trip and war. "You never know what's gonna go down out here, Bones. If it's not a wolverine going for my partner's throat, it's an unexpected downpour when we're five miles away from shelter, or a lightning strike. This bag's got everything to keep us alive for days, no matter what happens."

"I don't know if that's preparation or paranoia," Brennan commented, beginning to clamber into the boat. "Nevertheless, I appreciate your precautions."

Once she was settled, he climbed in and tossed the pack across to her before lifting the oars and beginning to pull them smoothly across the lake.

"Why can't I row?" she asked, when they were about halfway across.

He stopped rowing and looked at her in disbelief. "Seriously, Bones? We're gonna fight about who drives the boat?"

"While I may not have your experience, I am certainly capable of womanning a small rowboat," she said pointedly. "And, yes, I am aware that the expression is 'manning,' but I find it sexist."

"You wanna row, row," Booth sighed, figuring it was a small enough thing. "Just wait until I – _wait, Bones,don't—"_

Brennan stood up, without waiting for him to also stand and counterbalance her weight. The boat rocked precariously and she wobbled, automatically reaching for the nearest thing to steady her, which happened to be thin air.

Booth lunged for her as she toppled sideways, rocking the boat violently from side to side as he caught her arm in an iron grip and yanked her back to safety.

"That was foolish of me," Brennan apologized immediately, looking sheepish as she rubbed the arm where he'd grabbed her. "It's basic grade school chemistry that when there is a displacement of weight, there will be an equal and opposite—what's wrong?" she interrupted herself, as Booth stared out at the rapidly flowing river.

"Shit." He cursed, watching the backpack float away down the river, borne on the fast current. A few uglier words poured from his mouth as he realized what he was going to have to do. "There go our car keys. Stay in the boat, Bones," he ordered, kicking off his shoes. "Don't even think about following me in."

He forced all the air from his lungs with a fast, hard breath and dove cleanly into the water before she could protest. The water closed over him with a hard slap, dragging him down immediately with its knife-like impact as cold tendrils stabbed straight through his ribs and into his lungs. It felt like shards of shrapnel had embedded themselves in his very veins, alternately freezing and searing his vital organs as his sluggish circulatory system struggled to keep blood flowing through his numb body.

He stayed underwater for several yards, knowing that if he emerged too quickly he would only further shock his already catatonic system with the cold air. When he began to see small spots from lack of oxygen, he finally pushed upward toward the surface of the water, emerging with a half-relieved, half-agonized gasp. From somewhere in the distance, he heard Brennan's relieved shout as she spotted him.

He dreaded the thought that she might come after him. If he'd been in a better frame of mind, he would've realized that she was generally more composed in a crisis than him, and that she would never jeopardize herself, because that would lessen the chances of her being able to help him. Spotting the backpack a ways downstream, he pushed Brennan from his mind and began to swim toward it with long, smooth strokes that weren't nearly as even as he would've liked them to be.

In spite of all his physical fitness and his Army training, the dangerously cold Arctic lake was sucking every trace of remaining heat from him. He could barely feel his arms and legs anymore, so much so that it was a surprise that they somehow managed to keep moving even when they apparently weren't connected to the rest of him anymore.

Reverting to an old pattern he'd used to survive torture, he turned inward and counted each scar that he could remember on his body, reliving how he'd gotten the wound and survived the injury. By the time he hit 26, the backpack was in arm's reach. Only he couldn't grab it.

Booth frowned and flailed forward, but his entire body had ceased to respond. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the water, but knew that mere minutes could kill at these temperatures. With a superhuman effort, he somehow managed to bypass the brainfreeze long enough to latch onto one strap of the waterproof bag. He looped his arm through it and hung on grimly, knowing he wouldn't be able to make it back to the boat.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N:**

**Preview of 67- The resolution to the above incident (it'll all work out, don't worry! Like I'm really going to ruin things for them **_**now**_**?) and lots more physical fireworks. Yes, there will be a plot besides sex coming up in the next chapter or two, but I guess I need to get it out of my system after being deprived for 65 chapters. ;)**

**Thanks to everybody who responded favorably to 65. I hope this chapter met expectations for the "morning after."**

**In answer to questions regarding this fic's length—I have a definite end in mind, so it will not be endless. However, I'm not sure if that end will be in Chapter 72, 75, or maybe even 80. Again, though, if you feel that the plot starts to become a little less focused now that Week 6 is occurred, be aware that there IS an end goal in mind. I have no intention of writing a never-ending fic. There are too many other stories I want to write. =)**

**Poll question of the week: If you have time, I'd love to hear what some of your favorite lines in the story have been so far. No need to pick a single favorite. Just any line, description, or particular moment that made you smile and keep reading through 65 chapters. Thanks. =)**

**PS: Great Big Sea is my favorite band, so the musical valentine in this chapter is a shameless plug for them. But I really do think the song is perfect for how Brennan must have felt taking that next big step with Booth.**


	67. Steve

**A/N: There's a small plot detail in this chapter that has changed from Ch. 66. They're no longer hiking to their final destination, just driving, for reasons that should become clear immediately in Ch. 68. Had I had more time to edit in between posts, I probably would have caught that and saved you some confusion. Anyway, hope this clears that up. Sorry.**

**As always, thanks to Eternal Destiny for making sure I continue to be productive, even when all I want to do is fall asleep immediately after getting home from work. Much good stuff is in store for you in her multi-chap **_**The Conclusion in the Psychology**_**, so keep an eye on it!**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Other than shouting his name when she first saw him appear after his initial dive, Brennan didn't scream. Sinking into that laser-focused state for which she was notorious, she lifted the oars and began to row steadily toward where her partner's head was just barely visible above the water. Emotion took a backseat as she methodically determined the best course of action.

Having been in the water for approximately seven minutes, Booth would be in the early stages of hypothermia, requiring immediate re-warming in order for his body organs to avoid shutting down. They were closer to the Jeep than the cabin, so she would have to get him onboard without tipping the boat and putting herself in peril alongside him, and then into the vehicle, where she could blast the heat. She also suspected there would be a first aid kid in the rental, which might contain another thermal blanket. Or, there was the chance that Booth's backpack was waterproof and still had the foil blanket they'd made love under the previous day.

Her plans carried her across the lake until she was alongside Booth.

"Booth!" She called his name sharply, to test his alertness.

His head lifted just enough to let Brennan know he was still with her. His face was barely visible above the bulk of the backpack around which he'd wrapped his arms, but the momentary, fixed stare of his eyes and bloodless color of his skin before his chin dropped again told her the situation was dire. She brushed away a wave of fear and concern, choosing to focus her energies on saving her partner, rather than grieving for him just yet.

Brennan settled the oars in their locks, knowing it would do no good for them to lose their only engine of locomotion. She'd been rafting before, and knew something about pulling in a swimmer. Even though the construction of this boat was markedly different from a rubber raft, she hoped the overall mechanics of the movement would prove the same.

She dug her legs underneath the wooden slat she was sitting on and leaned forward, catching hold of the backpack he was clinging to.

"I'm going to pull you out, Booth," she told him, towing him up against the side of the boat. "Don't try to help me. Save your energy for walking to the Jeep, as I will not be able to carry you. Ready? One. Two. Three."

Without waiting for him to respond, she grabbed the bag, braced herself, and pulled with all her strength, lifting him over the edge of the boat, until half of his body, and all of the backpack, were inside. A freezing shower of lake water sloshed over her skin, sending needles of pain all the way to her dermis. Shifting her weight to counterbalance the dangerously rocking boat, Brennan grabbed the back of his belt and hauled him the rest of the way in, barely avoiding having him land on top of her.

Powerful relief swamped her as she moved around his motionless body sprawled across the bottom of the boat. At least he was halfway to safety. She unzipped the backpack and dug around, searching for the foil blanket. Not finding it, she didn't waste further time trying to give him first aid, when every second was critical. Brennan grabbed the oars and rowed like hell for the shore, talking to him as she rowed.

"Hold on, Booth. The Jeep isn't far. You're gonna do this. You're gonna make it. Stay with me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_He wasn't cold. __He was sure he wasn't. Cold didn't feel like this. Earlier, he'd been in pain. The impact of cold water had shattered across his skin like broken glass, cutting deep into his veins. Now, nothing. His body felt like some mobster had encased it in cement, but it didn't hurt. He just couldn't move for some reason._

"Talk to me, Booth." Brennan's voice somehow managed to seem both near and far away simultaneously. "You need to stay conscious."

_If he'd been able, he would've laughed. How could he talk, when his lips and tongue had clearly been part plastered over as part of the mobster's cement job? He tried to reach up and feel to see if his face was even still there, but failed miserably._

"Booth, say something."

_She sounded really worried. Booth dug deep, trying to give her what she needed. Oddly, the only thing he could come up were the lyrics of the Jimmy Buffet tune they'd sung on their way to the cabin._

"_Cheeseburger in paradise_," he slurred, hoping that would suffice.

"Keep singing," she ordered relentlessly.

_Booth sighed and pressed his face into the bottom of the boat, wishing she'd just let him sleep. He'd feel so much better if he could just get a little rest._

"Dammit, Booth!"

_He felt her foot nudge his leg, and was surprised that he could actually felt that brusque contact._

"Sing!"

_So demanding. Why'd he have to pick such a demanding girlfriend?_

"_Pickles, pie—nice slice … burgers and cheese in paradise …" _

"You're shivering, Booth," she informed him. "That's a good sign."

_His teeth were chattering, Booth confirmed to himself, trying to turn so he could actually look up at Brennan._

"Don't move!" she warned. "Your weight isn't evenly distributed and you'll tip the boat. We're almost there, Booth. Hold on."

_Almost where? Hold onto what?_

"If you even think of quitting, I'll resuscitate you, administer first-aid, and then cause you severe bodily harm."

_Booth snickered to himself._ _Okay, so he didn't pick the demanding girlfriend. Clearly, this bossy broad had picked him. _

_The boat ground to a halt, baffling Booth. Everything was a little unclear. For a moment, he'd understood why he was on a boat, half-dead, with Brennan firing orders at him like paintball blasts. But now the thread of understanding was gone again …_

_He felt the boat being pulled somewhere, ground over something that sounded oddly like rocks. Then,_

"This is going to hurt, Booth."

_He'd barely begun to process her warning, when Brennan was yanking him upright, onto his feet. For a moment he felt nothing, which made standing next to impossible as his torso tried to anchor itself on phantom legs, then nails of pain riveted themselves to his feet. _

"The restored circulation will be painful," she explained, butting her head underneath his shoulder. "Now we have to walk, Booth. You have to walk to the Jeep. Lean on me."

"_Sure you weren't ever in the Army, Bones?" The words all ran together, but somehow she still seemed to understand them._

"Just keep walking." Her voice was strained, but steady.

_Her smaller frame should have buckled under the full weight of his much larger body, but it didn't. _

_He could barely keep his eyes open, much less coordinate his feet, so she was his eyes and legs, as well as his drill sergeant. During the long, painful walk to wherever she was leading him, Booth held onto Brennan. _

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

By the time they reached the Jeep, Booth's body wasn't the only one shaking uncontrollably. Brennan was dripping cold sweat, and her musculoskeletal structure screamed for relief. If she hadn't been in excellent physical condition, she could never have withstood bearing the full, dead weight, of her partner's large body for over half a mile.

She propped Booth up against the Jeep door and put down the backpack that she had also toted with them. Rather than dig through its unfamiliar contents, she upended it and located the keys quickly. Unlocking the vehicle, she turned on the heat at its highest setting and returned to her partner.

"We need to get you out of those wet clothes. They're only worsening your hypothermia by further draining the heat from your core."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a little sex-obsessed, Bones?" Booth mumbled incoherently. "Not that I mind. We gonna have sex outside again?"

Brennan ignored his ramblings and focused on peeling off his sodden clothing, discarding it into the passenger seat. For once, his naked body failed completely to arouse her, even when she had to push Booth down and all but climb on top of him in order to maneuver him fully into the Jeep's backseat. Her sole focus was on getting him safe and warm again.

Rummaging through the Jeep bed, she located the emergency kit and thermal blanket she'd known would be there—Booth was as cautious as she was in certain respects. She also found a stash of cans of hot chocolate that self-warmed when the tab was popped, courtesy of an exothermic chemical reaction in two dual chambers.

Brennan peeled off her own clothes. Wet as they were, they would do her no good, and, while she was aware that the 'naked heat' survival method was largely media mythology, she would have to serve as a kind of provisional heating pack for Booth until his body started regulating its own core temperature again.

Carrying her emergency supplies, she crawled back inside and across Booth, and shut the door firmly. He was sprawled across the two seats, bare feet hanging off the end of one. For a moment, Brennan allowed herself to feel afraid. He looked so wan and vulnerable in his frozen, naked state, that he was almost like an entirely different person from the cocky FBI Agent who'd slowly but surely worked his way into her heart.

"We gonna have sex in the Jeep?" Booth asked drowsily, eyeing Brennan's naked body.

"No sex," she answered, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "Sit up. Warm fluids will help speed the process of re-heating."

With her help, he squirmed into a halfway upright position, vertical enough that she could at least begin to pour hot chocolate down his throat.

"That's really lousy hot chocolate, Bones. Like, the worst I've ever had."

In spite of his complaints, he indulged her by downing the entire can slowly but steadily.

"Whipped cream would've made it better," he sighed. "There's some back at the cabin. Why aren't we at the cabin, Bones?"

So he was beginning to orient himself to time and space again. Brennan felt her tense muscles loosen up ever so slightly with relief. She tore open the thermal blanket and helped him lie back down, then slid onto the seat beside him. Folding herself over his still very cold body, she wrapped them both in the blanket's silver warmth.

"The Jeep was closer. That was an incredibly foolish thing to do, Booth. We could just as easily have rowed after the bag, rather than having you endanger your life."

"It might have sunk. Then where would we have been, without car keys? Up shit creek, Bones. That's where," he countered, and she was so glad that he was able to carry on some kind of rudimentary conversation that she didn't pursue the argument. "Where are we again?"

"We're in the Jeep," she replied, aware that the early stages of hypothermia could cause temporary mental confusion, where a person made clear sense one minute, and was confused and disoriented the next.

His overly cool breath whispered over her skin as she settled her head on his shoulder. "You feel good, Bones."

"You don't," Brennan replied, draping herself more fully over him anyway, even though the cold in his body was rapidly seeping into hers.

"Gee, thanks, Bones."

He did feel good, actually. However cold and wet he was, at least Booth was lying beside her, rather than at the bottom of a lake. Brennan was certain that they'd made it to the Jeep in time for him to make a full, fast recovery, without any lasting repercussions to his health. That made being pressed up against his big ice-block of a body every bit as pleasant as being curled up with him in a warmer state.

Booth rustled the foil blanket as he tried to move to look at her and failed, his muscles still remaining largely unresponsive due to the cold. "Why are you shaking, Bones?"

She burrowed closer to him, glad he couldn't clearly see her face or reddened eyes. "It's likely I've sustained some minor hypothermia myself," she lied, unwilling to discuss her emotional state when his own physical state remained so precarious. "I'm fine, Booth. Just rest."

"C'mon, Bones," he insisted groggily. "What's wrong?"

"You scared me," she said curtly. "All right? I was concerned for your well-being, and the remaining adrenaline in my body is causing a physical reaction."

"Look at me," Booth ordered, almost pushing her off the seat in his attempts to clumsily sit up.

"No."

His voice took on a different tone, one markedly clearer and sharper. "I want to see your face."

Realizing that it was the only way to get him to settle down and let his body begin to recover from the tremendous shock it had sustained, Brennan exhaled wearily and lifted her head to a level where he could see her face.

"Aw, Bones." As she'd known he would, Booth clearly read the remnants of fear written on her face. "I'm sorry, baby."

"I'm fine."

"You don't even have any space," he complained. "Damn, my legs hurt, Bones."

"That's because circulation is returning more vigorously. It's a good sign. Would you like me to massage your arms and legs to ease the pain?"

"What I want is for you to climb on top of me," Booth answered, sounding decidedly frustrated. "It'll help warm me up, Bones, and you'll have more space that way."

She had no objection to his request, and settled herself on top of him, her body directly parallel to his. Booth. His body was a solid, if cool, bed for her own tired frame. She let herself sink into him, smiling as he finally regained control of some of his muscles and managed to partially embrace her.

"You sure we're not gonna have sex in the Jeep?" Booth eventually asked again, more teasingly this time. "My body's definitely hurting, Bones, but I'm not sure it's all because of circulation."

She had to laugh. "Who's sex-obsessed?" she inquired, raising her head and immediately seeing the desire on Booth's face. "Booth, you shouldn't contemplate making love right now. Your body is still in shock."

"I've been through a lot worse," he answered, flexing his fingers back and forth to ease the pins and needles she knew he must be feeling, then took her face in his hands.

"I strongly doubt you'll be able to sustain an—"

He sealed his lips over hers, cutting off her concerns with the cool invasion of his tongue into the warmth of her mouth.

"I can think of a real fast way to warm me up," Booth murmured, kissing her slowly and thoroughly until the chill of fear that had lingered in Brennan's body began to finally dissipate.

His physical reaction was improbable but, clearly, not impossible. Nevertheless, Brennan held firm.

"Your body doesn't need further physical shock at present, Booth. When I'm satisfied your core temperature is once again self-regulating, I will satisfy both our physical needs."

Frustrated, but also clearly in pain, Booth dropped his head back against the seat leather and sighed. "Now I know how you felt when I held out on you all those months."

Brennan tucked herself under his chin and helped him wrap his arms more tightly around her. "Rest, Booth. I would very much like to take that hike with you tomorrow."

"We will," he promised, kissing her hair and yawning in spite of his earlier demands for sex. "Just gotta rest up a little first …"

Soon the only sounds coming from the Jeep were two equally loud sets of snores.

** o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o **

He woke up first, surprised by how much his whole body hurt. It felt like he'd gone several rounds with Mike Tyson, even though the extent of his physical activity, as far as he remembered, was a little rowing, some swimming, and then some staggering, in the direction of the Jeep.

His thoughts turned to Brennan, who was still asleep on top of him, and how much her own muscles were going to hurt. She'd done the lion's share of the work saving him, and he definitely owed her a massage or three. He didn't want to wake her, but he had no idea what time it was, and if their trip tomorrow (today?) was going to happen, they both needed to get some actual sleep in an actual bed.

As soon as he felt Brennan begin to stir above him, Booth realized there wouldn't be much sleeping, and that they probably wouldn't make it to the bed the first go round. His body reacted instantly to the intimate, naked movement of her own, as she twisted and turned sleepily, trying to get her bearings. In the darkness, her head lifted and her eyes met his, glinting with blue worry.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he admitted, peeling the thermal back. The Jeep was plenty warm by this point, even though he realized from the lack of an engine running that Brennan must have gotten up at some point to turn it off. "How 'bout you, Wonder Woman?"

She smiled slightly and rolled her shoulders. "I won't suffer any lasting damage."

He reached up and dug his fingers into the tight muscles on either side of her neck.

Brennan rotated her neck and sighed a little as he gently but firmly kneaded away several of the larger tension knots. "Do you love me?" she asked randomly.

Booth nodded slowly, taking a guess at where she was headed with this. She had a photographic memory, and he'd shared that hospital dream with her …

"Want me to prove it to you?" he asked softly, moving his hands upwards to thread them through her frizzy, utterly disheveled hair.

"If you're not too sleepy." She leaned forward so her bare breasts brushed his own bare chest.

In his dream, he was the one who started out in control, but, given the limited space in the Jeep and Brennan's present position, Booth decided to amend the fantasy slightly.

"Do you love me?" he asked her in return, stroking his hands across her arms and back.

She nodded, catching on quickly. "Want me to prove it to you?"

"If you're not too sleepy." He smiled slowly and she smiled back, shrugging back the rest of the blanket.

Booth caught his breath at how beautiful she was, her lithe body canted at just the right angle over his so he could kiss each breast in turn, all the while continuing to run his fingers through her hair and down her spine. Her moans of satisfaction filled the Jeep, playing through Booth's head like some kind of erotic Surround Sound System.

Finally, she pulled away and scooted backwards, eyes locked firmly on Booth's. "I'm not too sleepy."

She set about proving her love in such a fashion that Booth's own growls and words of encouragement grew loud enough to attract passing wildlife, until neither could take it anymore and she slid forward again, holding his gaze as she sank over him at last.

"Ah, Bones," he murmured, groaning at how good her warm body felt interlocked with his. "Baby."

"Booth…" her voice was husky as she rose slightly and lowered back down again. She leaned forward as he raised up halfway to meet her, and kissed him.

"Bones."

Supporting his back against the window of the Jeep, he urged her forward so that she could brace herself on the walls of his chest as she rose and fell above him, her head tilted back, her auburn hair streaming over her shoulders. Her breasts rose in concert with each deliberate movement of her hips, mesmerizing Booth, but not so much as the look in her eyes when she occasionally dropped her head to look at him. For the first time, he could see clearly how much she loved him in her eyes, and the awareness blew his mind even more than what she was doing to him with her body.

They called each other's names as Brennan, always the fast learner, made love to her partner in such a way that the walls of the Jeep vibrated with the sounds of their endless need for one another.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

In spite of Booth's nickname for her, Brennan felt utterly boneless as she lay on top of him, reveling in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Booth was still breathing at a significantly accelerated rate, and the rise and fall of his large chest beneath hers was all the more pleasant because Brennan knew she had caused the disruption to his regular breathing pattern.

"Booth."

He grunted noncommittally, clearly not prepared to carry on a conversation just yet.

"All our camping supplies are in the Jeep, correct?" she asked, running her hand down his side idly.

He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. "Yeah."

"And we have all our clothes here, too," she continued.

Booth mumbled something or other, throwing an arm over his eyes and lacing his free hand through hers.

"Why are we waiting until tomorrow for our hiking expedition?" Brennan pressed. "We should make the most of our vacation time and leave now."

She couldn't explain her sense of urgency, other than that all of Booth's surprises had been so well-planned that she suspected his big surprise for Week 6 could only outdo all the rest.

"You want me to drive?" Booth's voice was disbelieving. "After that?"

Brennan raised her head and tugged his arm away from his eyes, smiling at the deliberately exaggerated awe on his face. "There will be more of that," she assured him, already planning other pleasant ways to take full advantage of her partial ownership of Booth's hard body. "But that does not change my desire to start out tonight."

"We need food, Bones," he reminded her. "A man cannot live on Bones alone, although I sure wouldn't mind trying."

That small detail had managed to elude her usually flawlessly precise brain. Unable to argue his logic, Brennan stifled a small, disappointed sigh.

"Hey." Booth nudged her side insistently, until she looked up at him. "If you really wanna leave tonight, Bones, it won't take that much time to get the rest of our gear from the cabin. It would just mean an extra day out in the sticks. I was planning on taking you back into town a day early, so we could clean up at a nice hotel before starting your leg of the trip. You sure you wanna forfeit electricity and room service?"

"Given past surprises you have planned," Brennan mused, "I strongly suspect each of those modern luxuries may be somewhat overrated in comparison to whatever you have in mind."

He grinned, clearly pleased. "My girl likes to rough it."

"I was 'roughing it' long before I met you," she pointed out dryly, ignoring his obvious attempt to bait her with the possessive endearment. "Conditions at dig sites are frequently much more primitive than anything here, Booth. Living without running water and electricity for a few days is no hardship for me, nor do I find it unpleasant. You know that already, or you would not have brought me here."

He skimmed one big hand down her back. "Can't blame me for gettin' the hots for a woman who prefers mosquitoes and wolverines to lightbulbs and 4000 count sheets."

Brennan chuckled. "I don't think 4000 count sheets exist, Booth. And I do enjoy modern conveniences. However, my preference for local wildlife is right here, big teeth and all." She thumped his chest and was rewarded by a goofy grin.

"Hey, Bones, you gonna keep being nice to me when we get back to DC?" he asked playfully. "I could get used to this."

She poked him in the ribs and was vastly rewarded when he somehow managed to smoothly flip them over so she was under him, without knocking her off the narrow seat.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan settled into the passenger seat and drew the blanket around her shoulders. Booth had brought extra containers of gasoline with them, but they'd decided to conserve heat anyway by using the heater as little as possible.

"How far is this place?"

"Several hundred miles," Booth answered, starting up the engine. "The way I figure things," he flipped his brights on and illuminated the narrow track leading into the wilderness, "We can drive about 100 miles tonight and camp out. Then tomorrow we get up early and drive the rest."

"Why not drive the full distance tonight?" she asked, gazing out the window at the sparse thickets of Black Spruces they were passing.

"I'm still a little beat from having been a human ice-cube. Plus, I have another plan for tomorrow morning that works better if we're still in this area." His tone was mischievous, and so was the look on his face, from what little Brennan could see in the dark.

"I'm finding I enjoy your plans, Booth," she told him. "You're very thoughtful."

He lifted a shoulder and shrugged casually. "It's no skin off my back. When you're happy, I get more action."

Brennan reached over and playfully shoved him. "It might take some skin off your back," she retorted, "If I get too happy and claw you again." She was referring to several long scratches she'd left in his back the first time, scratches he didn't mind at all, but which bothered her nonetheless. Even in bed, she was unaccustomed to losing complete control.

Booth chuckled, warming Brennan from the inside out with the simple, happy sound. "The scratches are like hickeys, Bones. You were just marking your territory, Dr. Alpha Squint."

"_Another _nickname?" Brennan commented in amusement. "You really must dislike Temperance."

She watched his expression shift from goofy to serious.

"Everybody knows Temperance." He veered a little to avoid an unexpected rock. "Even the general public knows Temperance, because she writes best-selling murder novels."

She was thinking this over when he continued,

"Angela calls you Sweetie, but somehow I don't think that would fly too well if I tried."

Brennan grinned at the notion. "I would suggest you not try."

"Yeah. I like my arms and legs attached to the rest of me." Booth shuddered melodramatically. "Hodgins calls you Dr. B. Can you see me calling you that, Bones?"

"No," she admitted. "It would be strange coming from you. That's strictly something I allow from Hodgins."

"'Cause it's his, Bones." Booth honked at a rabbit in the road, breaking the barrier of the silent night with a sharp, staccato beep. The animal scuttled for shelter, its scruffy pelt gleaming golden in the Jeep's lights. "It wouldn't work coming from me."

"His?" she repeated, not understanding.

"That's Hodgins' way of connecting with you, beyond the professional, just like Bones is mine."

"What about Dr. Brennan?" She'd never really considered the variety of names by which she was known, and she'd certainly never sat down and analyzed their significance.

"People you tend to keep at arm's length call you that."

There was some truth to that statement. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to point out a notable exception. "Zack calls me Dr. Brennan. I don't keep him at arm's length."

"That's different." He sped up just a little as the road widened. "You started out with him calling you that, and then, afterwards, when he became more than a squintern it just would've been weird. Zack calling you Temperance would've been like a kid calling his mom or teacher by her first name."

"You're saying Zack thinks of me as a maternal figure." She belatedly remembered the letter from their road trip. "Did you ever contact him to ask if you tell me what he said?"

"Yeah." His reply was terse. "He said I could tell you—he doesn't want to keep secrets from his mentor—but you're not gonna like it, Bones."

"Tell me."

"He threatened to do me in if I ever hurt you."

"Do you in …" Brennan sifted through her limited bank of idioms. "Kill you?"

"Pretty much," he confirmed. "Don't go gettin' all mad at the kid, Bones. It was the manly thing to do."

"Threatening to kill my partner is manly?" Brennan demanded, irate.

"Not just me," he said. "Anybody."

"I strongly dispute the notion that murder is a vaunted masculine attribute," Brennan said coldly. "In ancient cultures, where women required protection from marauders, there was a societal requirement for the male to be the protector. In today's society that notion has long been replaced by the realization that women can fend for themselves. There's no justification for threatening murder."

"It's not like he's actually going to get a gun and come after me, Bones. I mean, he might, but that's not the point. The point is he finally climbed far enough outside of his head to see there was somebody he cared enough about that she mattered more than science and safety. I respect him for that." Booth glanced at her briefly. "You mean you've never been mad enough at somebody to want to kill them?"

She thought guiltily of her excursion to Joseph Booth Sr.'s hotel room and decided to ignore the question. "So if Bones is yours, then why all the nicknames?"

To her relief, Booth accepted the evasion. "Temperance is the world's; Sweetie is Angela's; Dr. B is Hodgins' and Dr. Brennan belongs to the squints. Bones is mine, but everybody knows that's what I call you. The nicknames—baby, Smurfette—those are only ours."

She was irrationally touched by his emotionally-derived logic. "What about Joy?"

"Like I said, Bones," he answered gruffly, slowing when a long patch of gravel started to make their teeth rattle, "I wasn't exactly thinking when I called you that. I guess—you asked me at one point what I'd call you, and the name must have been somewhere in the back of my mind. It's part of who you are. That first time—it was kind of like all three of your personalities collided, Bones, Brennan and Joy."

"That makes me sound schizophrenic," she commented mildly.

"No offense, Bones, but the way you switch gears sometimes, it wouldn't surprise me," Booth teased, reaching over to lightly squeeze her knee.

She laughed, unable to dispute what Angela called the 'yo-yo' tendency she occasionally displayed. "Touché."

"I guess I hadn't realized until last night—you're Joy to me, as much as you're Bones," Booth added quietly. "You make me happy. Don't hold it against me."

She covered his hand with hers and they drove in silence for a while, until she spoke again.

"I feel as though I really need a nickname for you, Booth."

"No Smurfs or shoes allowed," he warned.

"I'll think of something appropriate," she promised.

"For some reason that really scares me," Booth muttered dryly, making Brennan laugh again.

He made her laugh more than anybody else, and she realized upon reflection that his theory on nicknames wasn't entirely erroneous. With him, she was Bones, minus so many of the defenses she erected around herself on a daily basis as Dr. Brennan.

"I could call you Clark Kent," she suggested. "Because of the costume you wore."

"No way, Bones." Booth sounded disgusted. "You can't use an alter ego as my nickname."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the superhero, the guy who swoops down, kicks the door in and saves the day, not the sidekick or the dorky guy in disguise."

His cocky self-assurance in this respect would have bothered her much more if she didn't know the other side of him.

"Then what about Seeley?"

"Nah." Booth grimaced. "Too many childhood memories. You can't squint up a nickname. They just happen naturally, Bones. It's not like you plot them out on some graph and then connect the lines to reveal the name."

"Steve Trevor," Brennan said triumphantly.

"Huh?" Booth looked at her in bewilderment. "Where'd that come from?"

"Wonder Woman's primary love interest."

"Wait, Wonder Woman had a boyfriend?"

"It was a muted relationship, due to the largely male viewership, but Diana definitely had a romantic attachment.

"Did Steve have any super powers?" He sounded suspicious. 

"He was a military hero. It makes sense, Booth. I'm Wonder Woman, you're Steve. He finally saw beyond the meek, bespectacled front that Diana Prince wore to work on a regular basis, before transforming, just like you saw behind my labcoat."

"There's nothing meek about you, Super Squint, with or without your labcoat," Booth said wryly.

"Of course, Steve is constantly needing to be rescued by Wonder Woman, whom he idolizes—"

He made a noise like a buzzer. "Try again, Bones. I'm not going to be some wuss who gets thrown over a woman's shoulder and carried out of a burning building."

"I've rescued you before," Brennan insisted. "And Steve occasionally rescues Diana, even without super powers. It fits. That's my nickname for you, Booth."

"Can't you just call me Superman?" Booth complained. "It's way more Alpha Male."

"In bed you can be Superman," Brennan said, satisfied with her decision. "Otherwise, you're Agent Booth to the world, Seeley to your family, Booth to your friends, and Steve to me."

"I don't know, Bones." He sounded unconvinced.

"There's always Vanity …"

"Steve's good," Booth said hastily, making Brennan snicker. "But in bed I'm Superman."

"Only Superman could break the laws of physics," Brennan said sultrily.

"Ha!" Booth grinned and thumped the steering wheel, obviously pleased enough at her deliberate stroking of his ego that he was willing to let his suspicion of 'Steve' go. "We definitely broke the sound barrier, Bones."

"You planned well in bringing us to an isolated location," she acknowledged. "We'll have to reduce our combined volume slightly upon our return to civilization, or our respective neighbors might commence eviction proceedings."

"I have an idea about how to fix that."

When he didn't volunteer further details, Brennan pressed him. "What's your idea?"

"I'll tell you when the time is right," he said mysteriously.

He could be every bit as stubborn as she was. No matter how she argued with him, she couldn't get another word out of him in that direction.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

By the time Booth parked at the foot of a large rock face, Brennan had only just quit hounding him about his plans for keeping the neighbors clueless about their horizontal maneuvers.

When he killed the engine, the full moon turned out to be surprisingly bright. The shallow, silver light cut across the landscape, clearly highlighting the path up the cliff. He'd been up this way several times, and was confident enough with the smooth terrain to propose a game that might have been dangerous in other circumstances.

"You up for a race?" He turned to Brennan. "If I win, you stop with the questions and trust me. If you win, I spill the beans."

"Minus the rat shit?" she mocked, as he got out of the car.

"First one to the top wins," Booth called, shouldering his backpack and starting forward.

"That's not fair!" Brennan yelled, jumping out of the car and chasing after him. "You didn't say go!"

She pulled alongside him and Booth picked up the pace, moving into military mode even as Brennan morphed into uber-focused squint. Neither had any intention of losing, and a small vole venturing out for a midnight snack ran for its life as the partners charged uphill, fully intent on the target ahead of them.

"You have an unfair advantage," Brennan complained as Booth pulled ahead. "You know the way."

"It's a straight shot to the top," he called back cheerfully. "The only advantage I have is that I'm Superman, Bones, remember? I can fly."

Behind him, Brennan was dangerously quiet, so much so that Booth finally paused to turn and check on her, only to find her breathing down his neck with an evil grin on her face.

"Well, I'm Wonder Woman, and I have super-speed," she informed him, even as she overtook him in three easy steps. "Bye, Steve."

He wouldn't have minded X-ray vision at that point, just so he could stand there and watch Brennan from behind as she easily scrambled up several small boulders in her way. She was wholly comfortable with her body and it showed as she deftly swung herself up and around obstacles in her path without breaking stride.

Booth shook himself free from the spell and raced after her. "You have an unfair advantage too," he pointed out from a few yards back.

"What's that?" she hollered, just barely breathless.

"You're way too easy on the eyes." Booth took advantage of the brief second she paused to roll her eyes and vaulted over a rock. The stretch on his muscles as he used his arms and legs to boost himself upwards was similar to the one he felt when he worked out at a gym. But in a gym there was no night wind in his face, no occasional patches of scree, no moon overhead, and no sexy squint hot on his tail, threatening mayhem if she ever caught up with him.

Other women might have copped out, or even pretended to get hurt in order to fake him out of his lead, but Brennan was unique in all respects. She played totally fair and when she did catch up with him just as he reached the summit, it was on her own terms, with no subterfuge or help from him.

"I win," Booth said with satisfaction, flopping down to catch his breath.

Annoyed as she was at losing, Brennan didn't complain. What she did was much more effective. She peeled off her sweater and top and stood in a narrow shaft of moonlight clad only in her ivory bra, her hair streaming across her shoulders, her face flushed from exertion, grinning.

"Are you sure, Steve?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Booth muttered, reaching for her. It was a surprisingly warm night for the altitude they were at. Nevertheless, naked skin went cold very fast. "I won, Bones, fair and square."

He opened his jacket and wrapped it around them both. She settled into his warmth with a contented sound, and Booth knew that he had definitely won, in more ways than one.

With one hand, he reached for the backpack and unzipped it, digging through it until he found the same thermal blanket they'd made love under the previous day. He shook it free of its bag and enfolded them in its foil warmth before maneuvering them so they were propped up against a nearby rock, at an angle perfect for looking up at the moon.

Not that he had much interest in staring at the sky, as Brennan's head dropped to his shoulder and her arms came to rest around his waist. This was a side of her—the possessive, needy side—that was still new and unexpected, but Booth was fairly certain he'd never take it for granted even after 50 years of the same. Nothing compared to having his partner half-naked in his arms, her breath drifting warmly across his neck, her hands idly stroking the back of his neck.

"I really do love you, Booth."

Her soft words, with the note of sincere surprise that still lingered in them at the realization of her feelings, made more of an impact on Booth half a dozen such declarations he'd heard in his lifetime.

He lifted her onto his lap, to further shield her from the full impact of the cold grass. "I love you too, Bones. So much it almost scares me."

"I know." Brennan curled further into him. "Is it always going to be this intense?"

"Probably." He kissed her shoulder lightly. "Maybe with other people the feeling eventually wears off or burns itself out. I don't know. It's kinda like with Parker—I still love him the way I did when he was first born. Probably more, actually. I still want to be with him every minute, protect him, you know, keep him safe from everything life is gonna throw at him, even though there's only so much I can do. I feel that way about you, Bones, but different, of course, and I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"I want to protect you too, beyond the bounds of our partnership," she said quietly. "Does that offend you?"

"Maybe I oughta start calling you Lois Lane," he answered with a smile. "You have this idea that Superman needs to be defended, even when his only weakness is Kryptonite."

"You're my weakness," Brennan said, surprisingly, looking up at him. "Loving you makes me vulnerable, Booth."

"It goes both ways. We're each others' weakness, Bones. And in some weird way that Sweets could probably explain, that makes us each others' strengths."

"Sweets will be very happy at the developments in our relationship," she mused, her lips brushing over his jawline.

"He doesn't need to know about the developments in the bedroom," Booth reminded her, just in case she was getting any ideas. "All he needs to know is that it's good, Bones. Better than good."

"Okay, Steve," Brennan grinned. "The secrets of your sexual prowess are safe with me."

"Hold that thought," he commanded, and let her go just long enough to grab the backpack and rummage around in it again, until he located the neatly folded wool blanket.

He spread the blanket out and wrapped his arms back around Brennan, bearing her down to the ground underneath him.

The full moon and a passing flock of geese were the only witnesses to Superman and Wonder Woman making love slowly and tenderly, an event that, foolishly, no writer from Marvel Comics had ever thought to pen.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: As feared, I lost about 85% of my readers between the Week 6 chapter and this one. I don't know what to say about that, other than, for those of you who did take the time to review 66, ****thank you****. Anyway, if you're missing more action in the plot, Ch. 68 and Ch. 69 will deliver plenty, I promise. I just had to finish getting the long-delayed love scenes out of my system in this chapter. And I guess I now have. Mostly.**

**Preview for 68: Hmm … a long, **_**long**_** road trip with the kind of wildlife that will keep Booth and Brennan on their toes while they bicker and discuss their future plans … lots of stuff in the chapter, too much to preview here … oh, and there's one last sunrise. No more after that, I promise, but I couldn't resist, given the spectacular vistas where they're camping. (By the way, Brennan's half of the vacation begins in Chapter 70.)**


	68. Into the wild

**A/N: This one's**_** really**_**long … **

**Eternal thanks to Eternal Destiny for keeping me writing. No brilliant beta from her= no weekly chapter from me. It would really behoove readers to wander over to her profile page and read some of her wonderful work. If not, you're missing out on all the amazing research she's put into her latest story. And if you haven't read "the chair" scene, you've been ****seriously**** deprived of what should be enshrined in canon as a truly classic Booth and Brennan moment …**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Day 3 of 10**

The hours of the night crept away, what with love making and setting up the tent. In spite of Brennan's insistences that she wanted to sleep outdoors, Booth was taking no chances on inquisitive local wildlife or abrupt drops in temperature. He figured one brush with hypothermia for each of them was more than enough for a lifetime.

Booth set his internal alarm and woke up just before dawn. The first thing he became aware of before his eyes opened was Brennan's body pressed snug into his. He cracked an eye and smiled, finding that they'd shoved the sleeping bags every which way during their wild, dream-induced calisthenics. The fabric was pushed down far enough that he could clearly make out his left leg draped halfway over her right thigh, his right ankle tucked somehow underneath her left. She had one arm flung back, clutching his waist to her, while the other was stretched out in front of her, palm down, fingers curled into a loose half-fist.

Booth's face was pressed into the back of Brennan's head, so he was half-suffocated by her hair. Every time he breathed in, he inhaled fine auburn strands and had to struggle not to laugh as they tickled his nose. Brennan's own steady, rhythmic breathing was broken infrequently by an abrupt snore that reverberated through the small tent, which was deliberately designed in such a way as to capture body heat and reflect it back upon its ensconced occupants.

The feelings that rose within him were alien to Booth. His job was to make sure that people remained oblivious, as much as possible, to the dangers always around them. He generally measured _satisfaction _by the number of criminals captured, and_ safety_ by the number of people sleeping peacefully in their beds at night, Parker included. He'd never overtly applied the terms to himself before.

Under the cover of darkness, where no one could read his thoughts, Booth reflected that he'd spent over half his life feeling completely unsafe and unsatisfied—something the man accustomed to caring for others before himself would never admit out loud. Brennan's growing trust in him was going a long way toward smoothing over some of those ragged scars. Every day she didn't run was one more day that he might be worthy of happiness, in spite of his past sins.

The warm, dark cocoon proved exceedingly difficult to abandon so early. Only the thought of watching Brennan's face as she witnessed the Northern Territory's unique sunrise was enough to compel Booth to wake her. He shifted slightly and smiled again as, even in her sleep, Brennan's grip around him tightened determinedly.

"Wake up, Bones," he said into her neck.

Brennan made an aggravated noise and burrowed backwards into him with an audible, "No."

Booth chuckled. He could've woken her up in any number of pleasant ways, but they'd done little other than make love or sleep since arriving at the cabin. And, while he had no regrets, he did want to spend at least a day or two actually _doing _something before they left Canada. So he refrained from the kind of kissing that would lead to another three hours in bed.

"C'mon, Smurfette." He ran his hands down her sides just lightly enough to make her squirm. "Rise and shine."

"What time is it?" Brennan mumbled barely-coherently.

"Probably close to 4:30," he answered, risking life and limb by pulling the covers further away from her as she protested volubly. "Up and at 'em."

Brennan groaned. "I don't want to."

"I thought you liked getting up early," he teased.

"We're on vacation." She flopped over, draping herself across him starfish-style

Grumpy, sleepy Brennan was ridiculously cute. So cute that Booth barely managed to peel himself away with his clothes still on. He unzipped the tent and triggered a round of ineloquent cursing from Brennan as the morning cold washed over them, instantly dispelling all traces of the warm-and-fuzzies.

"I don't like you anymore," Brennan warned him from inside the tent, as he pulled on his shoes.

Booth grinned, delighted at discovering yet another side of his tough-as-nails partner. On a dig she would be the first one out of the tent every day, probably throwing together breakfast and starting work long before the others even considered rising. The fact that she was comfortable enough with him to linger in bed and wait while he took charge spoke volumes for the shift in their relationship.

"You'll forgive me once you see this," he called, loading up his backpack with rudimentary breakfast supplies from the Jeep.

She emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed and definitely looking out of sorts even though she'd pulled herself together admirably with limited resources. Booth dragged his eyes over her, immediately regretting his decision to forgo wakeup sex. No makeup, a bird's nest for hair, day-old clothes, and she still looked better than any woman dressed to the nines.

"Coffee?" Brennan grumbled inquiringly as she pulled her hair up into a rough ponytail.

"When we get to the top of the hill," he promised, shouldering his backpack. "Ready?"

"It doesn't seem to make a difference whether I am or not," she muttered, nodding nonetheless.

Booth was unable to resist the siren call any longer. He hooked an arm around her waist and yanked her in close to him, laying a long, hard kiss on her mouth. In spite of her sleepiness, Brennan responded immediately. Her hands slid up his chest and her lips parted under his as she dove in hungrily.

For half a second, Booth battled back, trying to keep the kiss short and sweet. Realizing it was a lost cause, he discarded the backpack and jumped fully into the fray. While she stole all the air from his lungs, he reciprocated by roaming her body with his hands. He skimmed his palms up and down her back, lingering at the firm curve of her denim-clad backside. He was just beginning to slide his hands inside the waistband to the warm skin beneath when Brennan abruptly broke the kiss and stepped away.

"What did you want to show me?"

"That's just mean, Bones," he complained as she evaded his automatic attempt to bring her back. "You can't get me all worked up and then just quit!"

"You woke me," she shrugged, bending down to tie the shoes she already had on. They'd kept them inside the tent overnight, to ensure the laces didn't freeze. "I woke you."

She certainly did, Booth thought dazedly, retrieving his backpack. If he had anything to say about it, after the sunrise they were going to spend at least 30 minutes setting off a whole different kind of alarm. One much louder than any of those he'd beat into submission back in D.C.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They'd just started on breakfast when Booth glanced in the direction of the sharp, short drop-off that the cliff culminated in. Brennan followed his gaze and could just barely make out a faint hint of light on the horizon.

"Don't turn your head or you'll miss it," Booth warned just as a flaming orange half-sphere rose into the sky, faster than any sunrise Brennan had ever seen.

Thick, golden light, the color and texture of maple syrup, spilled out across the narrow valley they were in. It seemed to build up in great waves before pushing outward suddenly to crash into the walls of the cliff. From there it washed backwards around ancient copses of trees and merged with the many rivulets and streams that dotted the terrain, then flowed back into the sky, leaving the land dotted with pools of ocher and spotlights of amber and umber.

After the initial rush of sunlight came the crest of colors, hues of pink, red, purple and gray, all spreading across the sky in a blurred artist's palette, as though a rainbow had melted. Trickles of faint blush and saffron dripped like rain onto the land, painting the evergreens in colors that they would normally never wear, no matter the season.

Many sunrises Brennan had seen could be metaphorically referred to as 'gentle' or even 'weak,' in the sense that it took the sun some time to build up to its noonday strength, but that wasn't the case here. The Arctic sun lacked physical warmth but was aggressive and territorial, burning away the remaining stars in its path even as it consumed the faint moon crescent that had hung silhouetted in one corner of the sky.

It was over in a matter of minutes, the sun assuming its rightful place above and the land returning to a slightly washed out, grayish winter hue, save for the determined colonies of wildflowers that grew here as thickly as they did by the cabin.

Brennan turned to Booth, not even bothering to try and express her feelings. To her surprise, he looked just a little worried.

"Bones, I know we haven't done all that much on my vacation," he began hesitantly. "Sunrises are probably getting boring, huh? Maybe I should've—"

"Stop." Brennan took the can of lousy, self-warming hot chocolate from his hands. She set the drink aside, not caring if it spilled or not, and knelt beside her partner, who was sitting in a semi-reclined position. He automatically reached for her, but she nudged him back.

"Take off your shirt, Booth. It's my turn to teach you something."

She wasn't sure, exactly, what she wanted to teach him, but as she watched him draw his sweatshirt over his head, she decided it had something to do with trust. Angela was right in that he didn't trust her fully yet. This was one more way to show him she was no longer running.

Booth tossed his shirt aside, eyes locked intently on hers.

She got to her feet and held out her hand. He gripped it tightly and stood up, still scanning her face as though he needed an answer to a question he hadn't asked yet.

"It's my turn," Brennan said again, releasing his hand and taking a step back to better look at him.

His hair, usually so carefully gelled, was ruffled and wavy. His jaw was stubbled, his clothes creased just enough to indicate they'd been carefully folded inside a duffel bag. As handsome as Brennan found Booth in his work-mode, the slightly disheveled appearance was every bit as appealing in that it gave him a boyish look that frequently was hidden behind layers of daily responsibility and the heavy burden of old sins he still carried. Still, his eyes carried traces of uncertainty and hints of old sadness that she wanted to completely eradicate.

Brennan's eyes tracked across the broad shoulders and chest that she relied on to hold her up so often they had somehow become a secondary spinal column to her own musculoskeletal system. She admired the rounded bulge of his biceps and followed the corded tendons in his forearms into his large, capable hands with their long fingers and calloused palms.

Briefly, she contemplated the wide span of his pectorals, moving downward into the ridges of his abdomen and the lean cradle of his hips. He was too tough to say he was freezing, but the tension in his midsection was obvious whenever a particularly cold breeze blew across his naked skin and his six-pack rippled in response. Before too long, she hoped the contrast of his cold skin with her hot mouth would make his momentary discomfort worthwhile.

She stepped behind him, as he had done with her on their first night, and ran her eyes over his beautifully defined back.

"Bones, what're you doing?" His body jolted in response as she moved in close, but not so close that she was actually touching him.

She leaned forward, so her lips hovered right beside his left ear. "I want to kiss you, Booth. Every single inch."

Booth shuddered. "Bones, I don't know—"

"I do," she interrupted, grazing the tender spot right underneath his jaw.

He'd fallen as often as she had, and bore the scars to prove it. As much as being in control was a safety net for her, it was for him.

"Take two steps and let go." Brennan touched her lips to the side of his neck and felt him exhale harshly in response. "I'll catch you, Booth."

"Bones." His voice was strained. "C'mon, baby. I wanna see you."

"Stop over-thinking. Just be, Booth," she said just a little teasingly as she nibbled at the shell of his ear. "Just be right here, right now, with me."

He chuckled, and his body relaxed just a little. "Turning my own words against me, Bones. Nice."

Just as quickly, he tensed up again when she began to kiss her way down his throat. An audible groan vibrated through her as she kissed the laryngeal prominence of his throat, colloquially known as an Adam's Apple. Brennan repeated the kiss and got a similar reaction, followed by his arms reaching back to band around her waist tightly.

"What're you doing to me, Bones?" he rasped a little desperately.

"Making love to you," she replied simply, feeling his ribcage expand and contract furiously in response to her words. "Of all people, Superman and Wonder Woman should be able to break the laws of physics together. It strikes me as odd that their creators never considered the possibility of how much safer the universe would be had their powers for good been combined."

"I love you," Booth muttered, his head dropping to his chest. "You have no idea how much I love you."

"I think I do," she replied, continuing to kiss her way down his spine. "But it's possible you have no idea of the depth of my own feelings, Booth. If you'll refrain from talking for a few minutes, I'll attempt to show you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She rocked his world.

On top of a Canadian promontory, with birds just beginning to rustle in the treetops and clouds barely starting their way across a hostile sun, the woman took him apart bone by bone. Then she wrapped her arms around him so tightly in the aftermath that it was as though she'd reassembled him on her lab table, giving him a face, a name, bringing him back to life after he'd been dead for so many years.

Booth held her every bit as tightly, struggling to catch his breath.

"So, do I win the Squint of the Year Award?" Brennan eventually asked, somehow managing to lift her head from the bicep where she'd pillowed it after collapsing.

"No way," he answered quickly, opening one eye just enough to glare at her. "We've got more seven more days coming, Bones. We'll decide who wins _after _we join the Mile High Club on Hodgins' plane."

She shrugged calmly. "I'll win either way, but I don't mind waiting for my prize."

"Don't count your chickens," Booth warned her. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Brennan squinted. "I don't have any chickens."

"Maybe we can get one for Caesar to chase," Booth wise-cracked. "He could catch his own dinner for a change."

"If you bring a live chicken into my apartment for our cat to hone his feral instincts upon, I'll tell your coworkers about Bryan Adams," Brennan warned him.

"Like I said, Bones. You've definitely got a vicious streak."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"This is an actual road, Booth."

For hours, they'd been driving on dirt switchbacks, stopping only to refuel the car with one of Booth's gasoline containers. She'd noticed the landscape gradually shifting into more overt mountains, rather than hills, until it started to feel as though they'd descended into some kind of a basin, from which they emerged into a much higher elevation. Now, however, dirt had given way to gravel.

Brennan looked around in surprise. "Why is there a gravel road in such a remote location?" Her mind buzzed with questions. So far, she'd refrained from pestering her partner too much about their final destination, largely because it was obvious he had set his mind in stone about not giving away too many details. But this was too much.

"Where exactly are we?" she asked, as Booth pulled the Jeep to a halt behind a large sign. She'd lost track of their overall geographic location soon after leaving Sapphire. The hours of night driving to the cabin, while she slept, had left her in the dark as to how far north they'd actually come.

He grinned, clearly satisfied at having aroused her curiosity so thoroughly. "You've really never heard of this?"

"Heard of what?" Brennan unlocked her door and hopped out, but not before zipping her jacket all the way to the top. A huge nearby lake was sure to make the already bracing winds feel even colder. She circled to the front of the sign and read its warning, written in all red capital letters:

**THERE ARE NO EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES ON THIS SECTION OF THE DEMPSTER HIGHWAY.**

"The Dempster," Booth said from behind her.

She turned to look blankly at him. "I've never heard of it."

"Guess I'm ahead points-wise for the Super Squint Award." He shoved his hands into his pockets with a smug smile and rocked back on his heels. "I can't believe I found a place the eminent Dr. Brennan has never heard of."

"The award is intended solely to compare our sexual prowess," Brennan corrected him. "And you still haven't answered my question. Where are we? I can't say I've never heard of a place, if I don't know where it is."

He gestured around at the jagged purple peaks surrounding them. "The Dempster is 450 miles of gravel road connecting parts of the Northern Territories. We drove part of it on the road from Sapphire to the cabin. Our cross-country trip today puts us at about mile 150."

"Where does the road _lead_?" she pressed. "Are we on the coast? What mountain range is that? Are we in the Yukon? I don't like not knowing where I am, Booth."

"You're right here. With me," he shrugged cheerfully. "That's all you need to know for now."

Brennan frowned, searching for a way to get him to capitulate.

Reading her mind, Booth chuckled and nudged her shoulder. "Give it up, Bones. You'll find out where we are soon enough. Right now, you might want to turn around though."

She pivoted in response to his suggestion and stopped, stunned. Up until this point, the landscape, however spectacular, had been largely devoid of big wildlife. They'd seen a variety of raptors and rodents, but nothing in the way of four-legged creatures.

Several hundred yards away, a cluster of at least twenty shaggy brown caribou had meandered out of the surrounding forest and were now grazing placidly at the edge of the lake. Their bulky silhouettes were mirrored in the crystalline water, mingling with the reflections of the vast dolomite and red shale mountain peaks. The group appeared to contain mostly females and one male, an animal whose huge rack of antlers marked him as probably being of an at least somewhat advanced age.

Without knowing it, she held her breath as the herd calmly cropped away at the tender greens, occasionally stopping to lift their heads and sniff the air. The male in particular adopted a guarded approach as he spotted Brennan and Booth, watching them warily in between mouthfuls of reeds.

Booth wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned down to talk softly near her ear. "Parker did a report on this group. They're part of one of the largest caribou herds in the world. "

Brennan leaned back into him and continued to watch the animals, intrigued as a golden eagle soared overhead and the group closed ranks on the one lone, probably late, calf. In a nearby skinny tree largely denuded of its branches, a peregrine falcon was clearly visible perched at the very top and surveying his territory with keen eyes. Before she could comment on the raptor, it launched itself from the tree at a dizzyingly fast incline. Seconds later, it seized a hapless mouse in its talons and flew back to its original perch, settling in for a mid-morning snack.

"There's a lot more to drive." Booth rubbed his chin over her head. "You mind if we head out? There'll be more wildlife, although I'm hoping we don't run into any wolverines or grizzlies."

Wordlessly, she turned in his arms and looked up at him. He unzipped his jacket and closed it around both of them, drawing her into the heat of his body as he gazed down into her upturned face with a crooked smile.

"So far, so good?"

Brennan kissed him. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. The animals and lake and mountains faded into the background as he responded in kind, until there was nothing left of the outside world in Brennan's mind except for her Booth. Kissing her. Holding her. Accepting her, loving her, sharing one more unique moment with her that would forever belong only to them and which nothing could ever erase, no matter what life chose to throw their way.

She was vaguely aware that she was being alpha female, marking her territory, and that he didn't mind in the least. With one husky word, a word she wasn't even fully aware she'd voiced as they continued to kiss, Brennan declared to the world that she would never again allow the selfless love of this man to be shared with any other woman.

"_Mine."_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The arctic tundra sped by them, increasingly clad in fall hues of wine and gold as they progressed from a treeline of evergreens and into Canada's boreal forest, comprised of thickets of birch, poplar, willow, alders and mountain ash. The northern wind, for which the boreal forest was named, whistled loudly, cutting through the high alpine meadows and across the Ogilvie River Valley. Dall sheep, with their thick, curling horns and pure white coats, roamed the cliffs on either side of the valley, hopping precariously from one rock to another in a bid to sample a tasty patch of moss or lichen.

Booth watched Brennan from the corner of his eye, enjoying her changing expressions and the running scientific commentary she maintained, even though he didn't understand half of it. He noticed when she first started to wrinkle her nose and grinned to himself, knowing the inevitable question would soon follow.

Brennan scrunched up her face as the increasingly pungent fragrance of rotten eggs began to overwhelm the clean, crisp aroma of damp grass carried on the breeze.

"Are there sulfur springs around here?"

"Not exactly." Booth pointed at the bright orange sediment that the river banks were lined with. "The guy I last drove up here with said something about chemical reactions and rocks."

She peered at the river banks interestedly. "Can you stop for a minute?"

He did as she asked and pulled the vehicle to a halt a few feet from a grassy shoal. Brennan got out of the car and rummaged around in the trunk, oblivious to the biting wind that should have frozen her bare ears off the sides of her head. Finding what she was looking for, she headed down to the river bank with Booth following curiously, trying not to gag as the smell grew almost unbearably intense. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

"Geez. This is worse than a decomposing corpse."

Brennan crouched and dipped a small vial full of white powder into the water, as unaffected by the sulfuric smell as she was by the sickeningly sweet smell of blood their work led them to so often. She lifted the test tube and swirled it expertly, until the water turned colors, then lifted it up so she could better scrutinize the contents.

Booth groaned. "Seriously, Bones? You brought your squint kit with you on vacation?"

"Your friend was correct." She tilted the vial slightly and squinted. "The odor is being caused by water interacting with the minerals in these igneous rocks. There are high concentrations of calcium, chlorine and hydrogen in this river. It's not safe to drink."

"Good to know in case I'm ever desperate," he muttered sarcastically, backing away in an effort to stop his eyes from watering as a blast of wind sent a particularly strong wash of fumes down the back of throat. "Are you finished yet? I really wasn't planning on spending part of today back at the lab."

"Hodgins would enjoy further analyzing the chemical composition of the rocks," she commented as she walked back to the car with him. She was still tilting the test tube back and forth, so she didn't see what Booth did right away.

He grabbed her arm and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her from reprimanding him loudly. Nevertheless, she managed an annoyed, "What are you—" and then trailed off as she spotted the bear shambling along the river bank way too close for comfort. The animal's attention was momentarily focused on the movement of a fish under the surface of the water. Its massively thick coat glinted golden in the sunlight as it reared up suddenly and sniffed at the air, the razor sharp claws tipping each of its huge four paws on prominent display.

Booth swore a blue streak under his breath. All the times he'd been out on the highway, and he'd never once run across a grizzly. Leave it to Brennan to attract trouble wherever she went. And he'd stupidly left his backpack with the pepper spray in the Jeep.

"It's beautiful," his girlfriend murmured, as though the beast wasn't so close they could almost see the teeth hidden in its river foam flecked muzzle.

"This isn't like the geese, Bones," he hissed desperately into her ear. "This thing will actually _eat_ us and there probably aren't any genius scientists in this neck of the woods to cut it open and examine our half-digested remains."

The bear's enormous head suddenly turned in their direction, stopping Booth's heart completely. He stepped protectively in front of Brennan, all the while wondering whether they should try and slowly back towards the Jeep, or stand their ground and hope it didn't seem them as threats to its territory—or, worse yet, as lunch.

The grizzly started toward them, and Booth began to pray. He prayed the animal would turn around and forget they existed. He prayed the pepper spray would magically appear in his hands. And he really, really prayed that Brennan would take his lead for once in her life and not go all feminist Nazi on him. If the bear did charge them, he had every intention of being first in line for the teeth, in the hopes that Brennan would make it back to the Jeep safely.

"Start walking toward the Jeep, Bones," he ordered softly, eyes trained on the advancing bear.

"We should make ourselves very tall and make loud noises, in order to appear intimidating and alpha male," she responded, moving to stand beside him.

"By the time you're standing on my shoulders making loud noises, our heads will be halfway down its throat," Booth snapped, reaching out to shove her back behind him again. "Get to the damn Jeep, Bones."

"I'm not leaving you," she said firmly from behind him. "This is not the time to be a hero, Booth. I have no intention of losing what I've only just realized I've always had."

"Go get the pepper spray then," he insisted, breathing a little more evenly when the bear stopped to inspect something below a mulberry shrub. "It's in my backpack."

"At present, the grizzly does not appear to view us as a threat." She stubbornly popped up beside him a second time and grabbed his hand. "We should both retreat slowly."

He could go with that. Very, very slowly, he began to inch backwards, trying to keep one eye on the meandering bear and one on Brennan, to make sure she was keeping step with him. Simultaneously, he tried to watch for rocks or other natural debris that might cause them to trip and fall with any kind of loud noise that could set the bear off.

A fish jumped out of the lake and splashed loudly back down, drawing the grizzly's full attention. As it plunged into the water after the ill fated trout, Booth nudged Brennan and they turned and ran the remaining feet to the Jeep. Booth unlocked the door manually, afraid to use the remote for fear of attracting the bear with the loud beep.

He shoved Brennan inside and clambered in after her, shutting the door behind them quietly. Climbing over the anthropologist, he put the key in the ignition and started the car, wondering whether all the stories he'd read about grizzlies running 30 miles an hour were true. Still, no story he'd ever read said they could go 90, and the Jeep definitely could.

Booth glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the bear rearing in the water, the fish clasped firmly in its jaws. He floored the accelerator so hard that Brennan jolted backwards in her seat before she could finish fastening her seatbelt. Loud, noisy clouds of gravel flew alongside them as he drove like a bat out of hell, barely avoiding several sheep that had wandered into the road and froze at the sight of the oncoming menace.

The spindly, purplish tamarack trees lining the roads became little more than a blur as Booth drove close to 100 for at least 15 miles before finally easing his foot off the gas and bringing the Jeep to a shuddering stop. Booth dropped his head back against the seat rest, only just beginning to feel his heart rate return to normal.

They sat in heavy silence for uncounted minutes, neither sure of what words could possibly define what they'd just experienced

"I really don't think we were ever in any danger," Brennan finally ventured. "The animal was clearly well fed. It was merely curious. In all likelihood, it had probably never before seen human beings."

Booth dragged a hand across his face in disbelief. "You wanna go back and answer its questions about the species, starting with how we taste?"

"Thank you for bringing me here, Booth."

"Yeah. Thanks for taking me where the wild things are, Booth; this place is amazing." He snorted. "If the poisonous water doesn't get you, the bears will."

"I'm serious." Brennan scooted over to his side and elbowed him in the ribs until he stopped glaring out the window in self-recrimination and looked at her.

"Few people ever experience such a close encounter with one of nature's apex predators."

"There's a reason for that," Booth pointed out. "Bones, that thing could have turned us into lunchmeat in three seconds flat."

"Nevertheless." Brennan touched his arm. "I'm glad I experienced such a thing with you. I'm quite certain that it will remain an experience largely unique to us."

Booth shook his head ruefully. "You're thanking me for almost feeding you to a bear. Why does that somehow not surprise me?"

"Because you know me," Brennan smiled. "You're aware that I enjoy natural beauty and the occasional adrenaline rush, as well as being in situations that allow me to further my scientific acumen."

Her hair was wildly disheveled from the furious winds that had ripped through the cab as they careened along at top speed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and blue as the vast sky surrounding them. She looked as lovely as he'd ever seen her—even more so because of her apparently complete lack of awareness of how badly he'd screwed up yet again. She was actually excited about coming almost face to face with a freakin' grizzly!

Awareness of a different nature rose within Booth as he realized, yet again, why he loved her so much. Nothing about Brennan was typical, from her brain to her looks to her outlook on the world to the way she chose to express her love for him, far beyond anything three words could ever express.

Booth unbuckled his own seatbelt. "You know, Bones, I've also got a thing for natural beauty. When it's wearing tight blue jeans and a fuzzy green fleece, I get kind of weak of at the knees."

Brennan rolled her eyes at the trite joke, but didn't protest when he covered her mouth with his, conveying remorse and adoration in the long, deep kiss until Brennan finally pulled away.

"I want to make love," she informed him bluntly. "And the Jeep is a vastly inferior bed to the grass around us. Get out of the car, Booth."

Far be it from him to argue, in spite of the hours of road that still stretched ahead of them. If they had to camp out another night, he definitely wasn't about to complain. Booth did as ordered and waited while Brennan rounded the car to his side, carrying several blankets and the backpack. She tossed him the pack.

"Get the pepper spray out. Much as I enjoyed our encounter with the grizzly, I will be less than enthusiastic if another finds us in flagrante delicto."

While he retrieved the canister of bear repellent, Brennan spread the blankets out into a soft nest. When he next looked up, she was already peeling off layers of clothing, shedding them casually, as though the biting wind was nothing but an afterthought.

He pulled off his shoes and jeans and was reaching for his shirt when Brennan stopped him.

"Wait."

Quizzically, he looked at his naked partner. She was reclined on the blankets unselfconsciously like some kind of Venus DeMilo replica plunked down in the middle of an alpine meadow, watching him closely.

"I enjoy watching you remove your shirt."

"My shirt?" Booth repeated, baffled.

"The way you grasp the back of it with one hand and draw it over your head is extremely masculine." Brennan gestured. "Go ahead."

Awkwardly, Booth did as she asked, dragging the shirt off just like he always did. Brennan's appreciative observation and the slight, unconscious parting of her lips only added fuel to the fire of his arousal.

He slid down next to her on the blanket and pulled another cover over top of them, placing the bear spray within easy reach, then turned on his side to meet his partner's intent blue gaze. Without preliminaries, she moved forward until their bodies were flush and intertwined her long limbs with his.

The ground beneath them was far from smooth. Through the blanket, various small rocks dug into various awkward parts of Booth's anatomy. His back was going to hurt like hell in a few hours, and he couldn't find it within him to care.

Inquisitive bees buzzed nearby, investigating the couple rolling around in their field. Clusters of yellow-white mountain avens were flattened as thoroughly as though someone had tackled them with a flower press. A hare hopped by at high speed, thoroughly alarmed by the loud noises. An arctic fox stalked it silently, pausing to sniff at an exposed foot and scurrying away when that same foot lashed out perilously close to the animal's sensitive nose.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan carefully pressed several wildflowers in between the pages of a novel, saving them to share with Hodgins. Her botanical knowledge was sufficient to identify the species as Arctic lupine, some variety of lady's slipper orchid, and a flower that closely resembled a poppy, although it was cream-colored, rather than orange or red.

She fingered the fuzzy, hollow stem of the lupine. "You know, Booth, this plant was originally named 'lupine' from the Latin 'lupus,' for wolf."

The road had gone from being relatively smooth and well-maintained to muddy and full of potholes, so Booth didn't turn his attention from the windshield as he answered her. "Huh. Why'd they name a flower after a wolf?"

"It's poisonous and people believed that consuming it would destroy their souls."

"Bones, I know one of your hundred degrees isn't the legends behind flowers. So how the hell do you know that?"

She shrugged. "I only have three degrees, Booth. And such myths hold anthropological significance."

"You and Mr. Nigel Murray should try out for Jeopardy one day," he commented dryly. "You could win a boatload of cash and donate it to charity or something."

"I don't need to compete on a trivial game show in order to earn more money." She frowned. "Why would I need a boat in order to make charitable contributions?"

He didn't answer as a large, extremely steep hill loomed in front of them. A small wooden sign labeled it "7 Mile Hill" and the rusted frames of several cars on the side of the road attested to its voracious consumption of motor vehicles. Booth idled the Jeep and eyed the incline warily.

"I don't remember it being this bad last time."

"Is there another way around?" Brennan asked practically.

"Not that I know of." His face was grim. "If we get stuck, we're gonna have one hell of a hike to get help. It's not like AAA has an office out here. And we don't have enough gas to turn around. Shit. I should've planned better. I figured the permafrost would be solid by this late in the season."

Brennan waited quietly for him to decide on a course of action, aware that any commentary from her at this point would probably prove unhelpful. She didn't see any evidence of skeletons in the cars at the side of the road and had to conclude that their owners had also walked out on foot.

Booth set his jaw and got out of the truck, motioning her to stay put. A moment later, he returned with an armful of large boulders which he set at her feet. He repeated this several times before getting back into the Jeep without explanation.

"This isn't gonna be pretty, Bones. It's a good thing I rented a 4X4. Buckle up tight."

She was already belted in, but tightened the strap as he shifted into 4 Low in order to keep the tires from spinning and started forward at a slow, steady pace.

Even at the low speed he was driving, Brennan felt the Jeep skid left and right, struggling to gain traction on the overly slick surface. Booth expertly avoided overcompensating, holding the wheel steady and inching forward while attempting to avoid the worst of the potholes the incline was covered in. He couldn't avoid them all, and a couple of times the wheels hit a hole so deep Brennan's teeth rattled as Booth fought his way back out.

They were making incremental progress when a hard_, _rubbery _pop _followed by a loud hiss caused Booth to tighten his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The car yanked sideways and Booth hung on, steering it cautiously until it straightened itself out. "Get out and wedge as many of those rocks as you can under the wheels, Bones. We're about to start sliding backwards on 3 tires and a rim."

She jumped from the car, paying no attention to the ankle-deep mud that immediately sucked at her hiking boots, threatening to overflow into her socks. The Jeep was already starting to slide backwards, as Booth had known it would, and Brennan scrambled to wedge big boulders under each wheel, while Booth fought to hold the car steady. She breathed a sigh of relief as the Jeep finally ground to a halt against the rocks.

Booth exhaled furiously and tapped his head against the window in frustration. "Nice work, Bones. Now we just have to figure out how to change a tire at this angle."

Knowing he was blaming himself for a situation he couldn't have predicted, Brennan attempted to console him. "You showed great forethought in gathering those rocks, Booth. Had you not brought them along, we would be in much bigger trouble than we are right now."

He didn't respond and continued to fume silently for another minute before finally unbuckling his seatbelt. "Let's do this."

She got out of the car with him and slogged around to the side with the flat. The high elevation, coupled with the steep incline, had them both panting much sooner than either was accustomed to, given their high level of physical fitness.

Booth examined the ruined tire. Whatever had punctured it, the rubber had literally exploded off the rim, raining shreds of rubber all around. The remains of the tire sagged sadly on the mud-coated rim. It was a terrible blowout and Brennan was aware that a less experienced driver might have suffered a severe wreck as a result.

"The only thing I can come up with is that you're gonna have to stand behind the Jeep and brace it with your full weight while I jack up the car and change the tire," Booth muttered. "Otherwise, we'll slide backwards like a sled on snow, even with all the rocks."

"I can do that," she assured him. "It won't be the full weight of the car anyway. At least part will be distributed onto the jack, the rocks, and you as you change it."

Booth led her around to the Jeep bed and jumped up to retrieve the tire. He wrestled it loose from its locks and handed it over the side to Brennan, before grabbing the jack and rejoining her on the hill. They rolled the spare over to the flat, and Booth turned and gave Brennan a hard, fast kiss.

"Dig your heels in as far as you can," he told her before turning his attention to the jack.

She touched his shoulder to let him know she was still with him, then slogged away to the back of the Jeep. A few minutes later, she felt the vehicle begin to shudder as Booth started to raise it. Almost immediately, it started to skew sideways, away from the improvised roadblocks she'd put in place.

Brennan braced herself against the back and sank further into the mud, struggling to hold the vehicle steady as it bucked against the jack.

"Doin' okay?" Booth yelled.

"I'm fine," she called back through clenched teeth. "Just hurry."

Finally, the Jeep stopped fighting quite so hard as Booth finished raising it off the ground. Brennan remained locked in position, in case the car decided to move again, which it did every time Booth turned a lug nut. Whenever the tires decided to rotate of their own volition in response to the almost total lack of traction, they spat gobs of mud into her face.

It was probably only about 15 minutes later when he finally lowered the Jeep back to the ground, but to Brennan it seemed like hours. Her muscles clamped down, locking her so firmly in place that she couldn't move even when she was finally able to. Booth hurried around to her side and pried her viselike grip free.

"We're good, Bones." He held her against his chest, which was every bit as muddy and as sweaty as hers. "You did good, baby. A couple more miles and we should be free of this beast."

Wearily, she nodded. "I would appreciate some kind of bath sooner rather than later, even if it involves a swim in a cold river."

"We've got another 75 miles to go," he said into her hair. "You gonna make it?"

She shoved away determinedly, unhappy with the thought that he found her fragile. "I'll be fine," she said curtly. "I just need to towel off and change out of these clothes."

"Hey." Booth pulled her back and took her face in his muddy hands. "You asked me once why I love you, Bones." He rested his forehead against hers, holding her with his eyes. "This is why. Because any other woman would have had a shit fit about the cold, or the grizzly, or the mud, or having to basically serve as a human logjam for a Jeep. You're pissed off, but it's because you think I see you as being weak. I don't. You're the most amazing woman on the planet. If I wasn't covered from head to toe in mud, I'd make love to you in the back of the damn Jeep all over again."

He kissed her in spite of the muddiness and she gladly gave herself over to the heat of his tongue and lips for long enough that at least some of her energy was restored.

"I love you, Steve," she said into his shirt when they broke the kiss and just stood tiredly, holding each other.

She could hear the laughter in his voice and it warmed all the places the cold mud had seeped. "I love you too, Wonder Woman. You definitely earned that title today."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Forty-five minutes ago the woman had been more mud than human being. Now, in spite of her grimy hair, she had managed to use wet wipes to pull herself together so much that she might even have been able to walk into the Jeffersonian in her fresh pair of hiking pants and lilac turtleneck without drawing much attention. She certainly had Booth's attention, as she dozed against the window wrapped in a heavy blanket to offset the steadily increasing cold.

Holding the Jeep steady had required almost as much mental stamina as it had brute strength. The woman was the dictionary definition of indomitable He made a mental note to treat her to the hottest shower and best meal of her life, not to mention an hour long massage, as soon as they reached their destination. He'd even put up with caribou steak tartare if it would make her happy.

He pulled the Jeep up at a crude visitor's center and reached over to touch Brennan's arm. "You might want to see this." Booth motioned to the tri-part display mounted on a slab of concrete in front of the Jeep.

Brennan rubbed her eyes and looked blearily at where he was pointing.

_**Arctic Circle**_

_**Lat 66 33N**_

"Now you know where we are," he said with a smile at her astonished expression. "You wanna stop for some food and maybe a couple of pictures?"

So far they had refrained from too much photography. Booth figured they'd have a whole lifetime of trips to fill photo albums with. He was more interested in focusing on Brennan than a camera shutter, but this was an exception. This was the only part of the Arctic Circle actually accessible by road, and a limited number of people actually managed to make the trek this far north. He figured a little proof wouldn't hurt when it came to cementing bragging rights.

"You keep surprising me, Booth." She looked a little unsettled. "My vacation is nowhere near as unusual as yours."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said firmly, opening his door. "C'mon, Bones. Let's eat."

They snapped a few pictures of each other standing in front of the colorful, glass-enclosed displays of information, then set the automatic timer and took several more of them as a couple before climbing back into the relative warmth of the Jeep to inhale the sandwiches and fruit they'd packed almost 10 hours ago at the cabin.

Booth scarfed down his first sandwich and reached for another. "From here on out we won't be seeing anymore sunrises, you know."

Brennan nodded, glancing out the window at the cold Arctic sun. "Almost twenty-four hour daylight. Its disruption of natural circadian rhythms is indirectly responsible for the high rate of alcoholism and drug use in certain northern tribes."

"Real depressing, Bones," Booth said sardonically. He drained the last of a bottle of water. "Exactly the effect I'm going for on our break."

"Given the short duration of our stay, we shouldn't be badly affected," Brennan replied, polishing off the last bit of her own sandwich and wiping her fingers on her pants. "The lack of true night will be helpful, given the distance we still have to cover to get wherever it is we're going. Driving in the dark on roads in this condition would be hazardous."

The roads were definitely bumpier than they'd been before the hill. Maybe when he'd last visited they'd been recently resurfaced or something.

"Ready to head out?"

"Just a minute." Brennan got out of the car, still wrapped in the heavy blanket, and walked behind the Jeep, vanishing from Booth's sight.

He was just starting to get antsy when she reappeared, holding two blue wildflowers.

"Hodgins will be interested in the local flora," she explained, settling back in beside him and retrieving the novel where she'd pressed her earlier specimens. "It's the least we can do to say thanks."

"Just don't go carrying any live bugs back across the border for him, okay, Bones? Customs Agents might have something to say about that."

Brennan returned the book to her bag and wrapped the blanket around herself more snugly. "I have no desire to get stung or bitten by potentially toxic insects that I lack enough knowledge about to correctly identify."

He refused to even consider the visual of a seriously sick Brennan, miles from any kind of help.

"Booth. Look." Brennan pointed at a suspiciously large silhouette in the distance. "Another grizzly?"

"Let's not wait around to find out." Booth sped up, in spite of the road conditions. His abrupt revving of the engine flushed something that looked like a pheasant out of the shrubbery. It flapped squawking alongside the road, only to be immediately swooped up by a large bird that had apparently been waiting for just such an opportunity.

Brennan squinted into the blue sky as the predator and its prey receded into the distance. "I believe that was a gyrfalcon."

"Like, Yeats' kind of gyrfalcon?" Booth asked, still driving much faster than was probably safe on these roads. He figured he'd take a car wreck over another grizzly encounter any day. "_Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer; things fall apart; the centre cannot hold_ kind of bird? I didn't realize it was a real animal."

"You've retained a surprising amount of poetry from your college days. I really wouldn't have expected that from you, Booth."

"Hey, I retain plenty of stuff," he protested. "Maybe it's not chemical equations and bone names, but I remember more than enough, even if it doesn't put me in league with you trivia nerds."

"Information is only trivial if it is never put to use," she replied. "I suppose that particular poem would have had an emotional connection for you, due to its referencing of war."

"Not here, Bones," he said tersely. "Okay? I don't want to think about war right now. This is kind of the place I go where there aren't any bad memories, you know?"

"I don't have such a place," Brennan said after a moment of reflection. "My memories are always with me."

Booth tapped the horn at a slow fox, sending it racing for the safety of its nearby den. "No, Bones. What I mean is—this place is clean. Sure, the memories are always there, but they're not as strong out here. I want to keep it that way."

"In that sense, then we're making our own good memories to associate with the region. Correct?"

He grinned. "Yeah. I kind of figure I won't be _associating _much else with this part of the world, next time I visit, now that we've seen it together."

"Will you visit it without me?" she asked seriously. "I wouldn't mind, Booth. It's your place."

"I'm not coming back out here without you, Bones." He nudged her knee. "It's our place."

"We have a place." The muted wonder in her voice banished the cold from the cab for Booth. "To go with our cat and car."

"Dead car," he reminded her, to avoid having her pick up on his overly sentimental reaction. Apparently, making love hadn't had the desired effect on his emotions. The woman somehow managed to make him hard and soft simultaneously, without any kind of detriment to their sex life. He just had to keep a tight rein on things around his FBI buddies.

"I find myself missing Caesar," Brennan admitted. "Do you?"

"What, miss the animal that pounces on my head first thing every morning to demand breakfast? Damn cat doesn't realize it has a self-feeder," he groused.

"He prefers canned food. I provide dry food in order to assist with his overall dental hygiene, as he won't allow me to brush his teeth like the dentist said we should."

Booth coughed in order to hide his laughter at the memory of Brennan struggling to hold the cat while simultaneously trying to shove a toothbrush in its protesting mouth. Caesar definitely hadn't proved amenable to the idea that a daily brushing would keep him healthier in the long run.

"You will need to be more supportive when we have children," she lectured him. "The cat should be practice for us, Booth."

Now he did laugh. "I've got plenty of practice, Bones, don't worry. I'll make sure my kid brushes his teeth."

"His?" she questioned. "Would you prefer another son, then?"

"Just having a baby with you is enough for me, Bones, whatever we wind up with." That said, he definitely wouldn't mind a little girl with red curls and blue eyes. He suspected he'd be wrapped around her finger from day one, just like he was around her mother's.

"How many children are you hoping for?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Let's just see what happens after the first, okay, Bones? Sure, I'd love two or three brothers and sisters for Parker, but I get that your career is important. We'll figure it out one at a time."

"So you won't object to my working after having a child?"

Booth really hadn't seen this conversation coming for a while yet. He cleared his throat awkwardly and swerved to miss a particularly large rock in the road.

"I know you're gonna work, Bones, obviously. I just don't know how we're going to handle the whole nanny thing. It's not like I want a complete stranger caring for our baby."

"I've already given the matter some thought in terms of logistics," Brennan said. "The Jeffersonian is considering establishing a daycare center for its employees. I intend to see that it follows through on the plan. Then, when Angela and I have children, we can visit them regularly throughout the day. I'm aware of the importance of spending as much time as possible with a child in their infancy, to establish an emotional bond."

"You're gonna be a great mom, Bones." Booth reached over and took her hand, feeling the familiar surge of emotion yet again. "And I really like the idea of having our baby close by, so I can visit at lunchtime."

"Do you plan on being present at the birth?" she asked bluntly. "I'm aware it's now considered customary for men to be at their mates' sides in the hospital, but not all men are comfortable with natural biological functions. And you are squeamish, Booth."

"Hell, yes, I'm gonna be there!" Booth exclaimed. "I missed seeing Parker being born, Bones. No way am I going to be anywhere but right next to you, holding your hand, when our baby comes into the world."

"I like the idea of you being there," she said quietly. "When I was planning on having a child on my own, I sometimes regretted knowing that I would in all likelihood deliver him or her without you present."

"That was never gonna happen," he informed her. "I would've been there, Bones."

"You would have been there even if we hadn't agreed to raise the child together?"

The thought was painful for him to even consider at this point.

"Yeah, Bones. Even if the kid belonged to somebody else, I would've been there," Booth said tersely. "Okay? You're my partner. I'm always gonna be there for the important stuff in your life. Always."

"What if I plan to deliver somewhere outside of a hospital? Would you object to a natural birth?"

Booth pulled his hand back, so he could clench it around the wheel. "I don't know about that, Bones. I mean, you're the one havin' the baby and all, but what if something happens? A hospital is just safer."

"Hospital births are relatively recent in history," she noted. "Women have been delivering children with little assistance for millennia. I'm strong and healthy, Booth. I shouldn't have any problems."

"You're not women, Bones. You're you. I don't care how everybody else has their kid. I want to make sure you and our baby are safe, and I think a hospital is the best place for that to happen."

"What if Cam assisted me in a homebirth?" Brennan pressed. "She's fully qualified to deal with emergencies."

This was becoming an increasingly surreal conversation.

"You're saying you want to have a baby at home, with Cam assisting."

"And Angela. I find the idea comforting."

"Bones, you're a scientist," he pleaded, catching a glimpse of the road sign that told him their next stop was only a few miles away and feeling wildly relieved at the thought that they'd probably switch conversational gears at that point. "Aren't you supposed to prefer places with doctors in white coats and medical equipment and stuff?"

"I'm also an anthropologist. My observations of natural births in native tribes, where the women are assisted by their female relatives and friends, have led me to conclude that it is a cementing of communal ties for women to assist one another at such an intimate moment."

"Yeah, well, I don't exactly want our baby's birth to be a communal moment," he muttered. "It's something that should be kind of private, Bones. Then, after the baby is born, everybody can visit."

"A homebirth is arguably more private than a hospital birth," she argued.

He sighed. "And where would you have the baby, Bones? An inflatable pool in the middle of the living room?"

"Presumably, by the time we have a child together we will also be living under the same roof and sharing a bed. I like the idea of having a child in our bed, just as in past generations families gave birth in the same—"

"Hell, no!" Booth yelped. "No babies being born in our bed, Bones. Not in our bathtub or our bed. If you wind up having the kid at home—_if_—it's gonna be somewhere all that blood and … stuff … is easy to clean up, and where I don't have to remember it every time I take a bath or a nap."

She frowned. "I thought you would cherish the memory of the birth."

"I will," he assured her. "But I don't need the constant visual reminder of it happening. I'll remember it just fine on my own. Hey, look at that." He sighed with relief as he spotted their mode of transportation across the Peel River. "There's our ride."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: **

**Thank you so much to all those reviewers who took the time to let me know they're still following **_**Problem Solving**_**. I've said it before—why should I write if nobody reads, right? So it's really heartening to know people are still reading. Again-**_**thank you**_**. =)**

**Speaking of feedback, I got one comment this week—a PM—that really hit me hard. The person said the story has become nothing but meaningless angst. The only reason I mention the PM is that I want to ensure that the rest of my readers don't have similar feelings. Right now, given all the positive reviews, that doesn't seem to be the case. But, there are least 6 more (long) chapters to go. If you decide that the story becomes "meaningless" in any of those next chapters, please, ****please**** let me know. I really don't want to do the readers, or the plot, an injustice. I started strong and would like to end strong. **

**In answer to a reviewer's question—Booth's road trip game will definitely happen, but that will be in Brennan's half of the vacation. Not this one. =)**

**Preview for next chapter: 10,000+ words. (Possible 12,000, unless I decide to split the chapter.) Rivers, boats, a nod to Christine Brennan via pareidolia, a gourmet repast, among other things, and then we arrive at Booth's final vacation surprise for Brennan … **


	69. Cetaceans and pareidolia

**A/N: I have many people to thank for their help with this chapter. Mil gracias to Eternal Destiny for her diligent beta-ing, in spite of her crazy busy schedule, and her consistent encouragement of my writing. Copious thanks to MorWeb, for providing a second pair of eyes and thorough feedback, and for taking the time to go back and review previous chapters. Your thoughtful comments, from start to finish, really made my day. =) And, last but not least, many thanks to Vafore and Svenlat, for helping to ensure that the Canadian menu portion of the chapter is as accurate as possible!**

**This is probably the longest chapter I will ever post. I don't know if people will actually manage to wade through 12,000 words, but I wanted to go ahead and finish up Booth's vacation so that Brennan's vacation can commence next chapter. As some of you have pointed out, I do research each chapter extensively for accuracy. If sometimes you feel I go overboard on descriptions—and I very well might—I apologize. Sometimes the muse is hard to rein in. If it gets to be too long, maybe you could read it over the course of several days? =)**

**It's my birthday today, so if you do manage to get through the whole huge chapter and enjoy it, your comments would make for a lovely virtual present. =)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The ferry was a sturdy, grayish white boat bobbing gently at the end of a water-stained pier wide enough to accommodate several sizeable cars.

"This is a braided river." Brennan's comment, as they walked towards the boat, earned her a baffled look from Booth. "The permafrost will not allow it to cut into the land as it normally would. So, rather than going deep, the river goes wide. It spreads itself across the land in narrow 'strings,' wherever it can make inroads, and has an abundance of islands and ponds."

"That's not trivial knowledge?" Booth raised his eyebrows at the same time that a bearded man came barreling up the pier.

"Booth! Dude—where've you been the last couple summers?"

Having spent the last few days completely alone with Booth, Brennan found it suddenly very awkward to be in the presence of another human being. She stepped to the side and waited as Booth guy-hugged the older man and traded some macho banter for a couple of moments before turning back to her and gesturing.

"This is my girlfriend, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"_The _Dr. Brennan? The genius scientist you've got the hots for?"

"That's her," Booth replied a little sheepishly. "Bones, this is Dennis. He's been running this ferry for, what, 20 years?"

"Something like that." Dennis shook Brennan's hand enthusiastically. "So, does this mean you finally called the good doctor over to the dark side?"

Brennan frowned. "You are utilizing a metaphor from the Star Wars saga, where Jedi knights are viewed as white and the minions of the Emperor are black. It's a simplistic use of the Zen philosophy of dualism. The implication would be that Booth serves the Emperor, while I am a Jedi, and that he has somehow caused me to reject my training and to join forces with the Empire. I fail to understand how the metaphor relates at all to my relationship with Booth."

The ferry operator's eyes popped. "What'd she say? I thought she was American, Booth, but that definitely wasn't English."

"I was speaking standard English—" Brennan began to protest, only to be cut off by Booth.

"He doesn't speak squint," he reminded her. "Yeah, she came over to the dark side. Finally."

Dennis beamed. "So, Dr. Brennan, you're going to make an honest man out of Booth here?"

"Booth is already an honest man," she answered, perplexed. "He's one of the most honest men that I have ever known. The fact that we are now dating is largely due to his moral character, which I have had no part in shaping."

"She's funny," Dennis grinned at Booth. "And hot."

"Yes, she is. And watch it," Booth warned his friend lightly, punching him in the shoulder a little harder than necessary. "How 'bout a ride across the pond?"

"I'll open the gate so you can drive onboard." Dennis turned toward the ferry. Over his shoulder, he called, "Where you headed?"

"I don't know," Brennan answered wryly, glaring at her partner. "Booth is keeping our final destination a surprise in spite of the fact that I hold specific knowledge which could be used for the purposes of blackmail if he doesn't divulge his secret in short order."

Booth blanched. "Hey, whoa, Bones. Don't do that—we're almost there. Just another couple hours." He caught her hand, grazed his lips across her knuckles and smiled winningly. "Stay with me, Smurfette. It'll be worth it."

She disliked being so easily won over by his overt attempts at manipulation, but charming Booth could be very hard to resist. Brennan retrieved her hand and rolled her eyes.

"Two more hours, Booth, and then I pour."

"Spill," Booth corrected, following her toward the car as the loud clang of metal indicated Dennis had lowered the ramp for the car to board. "Two more hours and then you spill, Bones. You don't have enough information about me to pour."

"I would debate that." Brennan smiled as Booth grimaced.

"Anybody ever told you you have a mean streak?"

"You've mentioned it a few times," she replied, climbing into the car as he held the door open. "You also have quite a lot of information that you could use against me, Booth."

"Yeah, but I would never do that, Bones," he teased, getting in on his side. "I don't kiss and tell."

"I do," Brennan answered, enjoying the immediate fuming and sputtering that followed her statement.

Booth guided the car across the pier and up the ramp, parking in one of the half dozen empty spaces available. A few minutes later they felt the boat vibrate as the ramp was pulled back onboard, followed by a slow but steady forward movement as Dennis started the ferry's motor.

"You wanna get up and walk around?" Booth turned to Brennan. "You get some nice views from the upper deck."

She shook her head and scooted over to his side with a meaningful look. "I get nice views from the lower deck as well."

Before Booth could protest about his friend possibly walking in on them, the loudspeaker connected to a pylon several rows down blared to life.

"You two won't be the first couple to make good use of the time across the river," Dennis's voice boomed presciently. As Booth flushed, the ferry operator continued, "I got ice to watch for up here. You're safe from prying eyes for, oh, 15 minutes, maybe."

"Isn't it early for ice?" Brennan asked, even as Booth got over his aggravating sense of propriety and jerked his head in the direction of the backseat, a suggestion to which Brennan agreed with no argument.

"No ice back here," Booth said in her ear as they got comfortable.

If there had been, it would have melted very quickly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Forty-five minutes later they boarded a second ferry, this one across the Mackenzie River. Booth didn't know the operator, and a group of camera-happy tourists were on board with them, so he and Brennan couldn't have gotten a moment alone if they tried. He'd been surprised that they'd managed to avoid people so completely up until this point on the road. In past trips he'd always shared the road with at least another couple of cars, and even a few semi-trailers that kicked up gravel so fiercely that they forced him to pull over until the swirls of brown dust died down enough so he could see the road again.

He was naturally a sociable guy, but Booth wasn't anymore ready to relinquish his alone time with Brennan than she seemed to be prepared to surrender her time with him. The world would come roaring back to face them soon enough, with all its interruptions and challenges, so they kept as much to themselves as possible.

Oblivious to the danger signs he was sending out, the tourists continued to ask for him to take their picture in all manner of ridiculous poses. Brennan finally took matters into her own hands when a tourist interrupted their continued conversation about future children one too many times.

"My partner is an FBI Agent," she informed the rude trespasser coolly. "He carries a sidearm and is an extremely good shot. It's likely that the discharge of his weapon would only be intended to scare you. While excellent, my aim isn't as precise as his and could accidentally inflict more damage than was intended, should you continue to interrupt us."

"Bones!" Booth swallowed the smile that threatened to overtake his face and tried to put on a scolding tone as the overbearing tourist backed away. "You can't just go threatening people like that."

She shrugged. "I'm sure he knew I was being hyperbolic."

Booth coughed and eyed the huddle of tourists that kept glancing their way. "Yeah … not so sure about that."

"I disliked his disruption of our eye sex," Brennan said calmly, drawing another strangled cough from Booth.

"_Eye sex?"_ he whispered, darting a sideways glance at the murmuring tourists.

"Angela taught me the term. Eye sex, or eye intercourse, is a metaphor for couched desire, as conveyed by unbroken eye contact that is designed to convey deeply felt emotions that cannot be expressed in a societally appropriate way at the moment."

"Angela and I need to have a talk when we get back," Booth muttered. "She oughta know better than to turn you loose with metaphors like that one, without warning me first."

"Interestingly, I find I am enjoying this version of 'intercourse' almost as much I do our actual physical love making," Brennan mused. "Your eyes are very expressive, Booth."

He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how the hell she was managing to get him all hot and bothered without even making any kind of really suggestive comments.

"You should respond with a similar compliment," Brennan coached. "For example—"

"I get it, Bones," he said quickly. "When I was just starting to try and figure out how to read you, back when we first began working together, your eyes really clued me in."

Brennan leaned against the ferry's railing and rested her arm over his lightly. "Expand on your compliment."

"You hide a lot of stuff," Booth explained, "But your eyes never do. Everything you're feeling is right there, at the surface. Like whenever I would walk into the lab and call you Bones, you'd act all huffy, but your eyes told me you didn't really mind."

"That's a compliment?" she asked uncertainly.

"Sure." He propped his forearms more comfortably on the railing. "I like that there's some part of you that I can actually always make sense of." He nudged her in the side playfully, to let her know he was kidding. "But if that's not a big enough compliment for you …" he trailed off, wondering if this was the right place to tell her.

"What?" she demanded. "What were you going to say?"

"My fantasies," Booth said, lowering his voice to ensure that this conversation stayed between them, "Before we were dating. They weren't always about you and me getting naked, Bones. A whole lot of times I'd wake up in the morning and the first thing that would pop into my head would be this image of you looking at me, you know? Just looking at me, and not even smiling with your mouth, but I knew you were happy anyway because of the way you were kind of squinting and your eyes were going this kind of darker shade of blue." He glanced at Brennan to gauge her reaction and smiled. "Like right now."

"That was a very nice compliment." Brennan pursed her lips. "My own now seems to be somewhat lacking."

"Expressive's good," he assured her, sliding his arm around her waist.

She scooted closer into his side and gazed out across the water. "When we're in a room filled with other people and I feel embarrassed because I've unwittingly made a social gaffe, I'll sometimes look over at you and you'll be talking to somebody, but your eyes will be looking at me. The acceptance I find in your gaze is very meaningful, Booth."

"Ah, thanks, Bones," he said awkwardly. "Any chance we can change the subject? This is gettin' a little hot and heavy for a public conversation."

Brennan snickered. "It seems you're every bit as prudish about eye intercourse as you are about physical intercourse."

Booth shifted his position so Brennan was sandwiched between the railing and him. No way was he going to let her get away with calling him a prude at this stage. And, by the look in her always honest blue eyes, she knew it, too.

"You're getting good at this whole emotional manipulation thing, Bones."

Brennan grinned and lifted her face to his. "I learned from the best."

The tourists had one more reason to gossip as the partners sank into each other's mouths hungrily, adding 'lip intercourse' to their personal lexicon of metaphors for love making.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Last leg of the trip," Booth announced as they drove the car off the Mackenzie ferry. "I think you're gonna like this, Bones."

"I've liked everything else so far," she answered, "It seems you are once again … fishing."

He high-fived her for using the idiom correctly.

"Seriously, though," he insisted, "This is almost as good as my final surprise. Actually, I think it's better, but you probably won't."

"I can't make any sense of that statement, as I have no knowledge of either place as of yet."

"You'll 'have knowledge' of this next surprise soon," he promised, flashing her a grin.

The landscape was markedly different from the one they had traversed from the cabin thus far. Stark mountains had given away to benign rolling hills, nothing like the steep inclines they'd encountered earlier. A network of rivers and lakes fanned out in every direction, tied together by marshland estuaries comprised of muddy, sandy peat bogs edged by the northern boreal forest of birches, quaking aspens, balsam poplars and lodgepole pines.

Dotted throughout the low treeline were cone-shaped ice hills, each topped by a lake, that Booth informed her were known as 'pingos.' She didn't fully understand the geological process that would have caused such unusual formations, but hazarded a guess that it had something to do with permafrost freezing around the sediments in dry lake beds, rather like an oyster forms a pearl from around a central irritant particle that serves as a structural nucleus.

As they navigated through the swamplike terrain, they encountered a variety of wildlife that thrived on the abundant prey found within the Mackenzie Delta, not the least of which were crabs, worms and small fish in the bogs that attracted a huge variety of bird species. Black bears fattening up for winter roamed the shorelines, consuming vast quantities of bear berries and Arctic chub. A pack of Arctic wolves followed the Jeep for a while, pacing curiously beside this creature they could not identify, until they finally decided it was not prey and veered off to chase snowshoe hares, caribou and long-haired musk oxen.

The tang of salt grew sharp in the air as they drove onward, until Brennan was craning her neck to find its source.

"The Beaufort Sea," Booth explained, seeing her contortions. "There." He stopped the Jeep abruptly and pointed at a place where the wide mouth of the Mackenzie collided with a vast stretch of wild water, dotted with ice floes.

Even though she had known, after stopping at the Arctic Circle, that the sea would be somewhere in the general vicinity, Brennan was still surprised.

"How many ecosystems have we driven through?" she asked as they climbed out of the Jeep, carefully placing their feet as they made their way through the bogs toward the water's edge.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Never counted. Maybe next time, huh?"

She liked that there would be a next time.

They slogged their way forward until they hit a sandbar that offered them slightly firmer footing. Nevertheless, Booth protectively placed a hand at Brennan's back as they walked. They stopped at the top of a small, sandy hill and looked out across the water.

"This surprise depends on somebody else's schedule," Booth told her. "So we've just gotta cross our fingers and hope Mother Nature cooperates."

"One theory for the origin of finger crossing dates back to Roman times, when Christianity was illegal. It's believed that finger crossing was a secret signal that allowed Christians to safely recognize each other," Brennan commented.

"Like I said before, you don't have any trivial knowledge at all."

"You're being sarcastic," she said, just to check that her assumption was correct.

He smirked. "You think?"

"There is no logical explanation for why people believe intertwining their phalanges should increase their good fortune," she continued, unperturbed. "The concept is almost as absurd as the belief in luck itself."

Booth grabbed her shoulder suddenly and spun her towards the sea. "Ha! We got lucky, Bones!"

For a moment she didn't understand what he was referring to, then she spotted the white shadows moving slowly under the water, occasionally breaking the surface with huge, wet snouts before ducking back under again.

"Beluga whales," Brennan murmured under her breath.

"This is one of their breeding grounds," Booth confirmed. "It's a protected sanctuary, but they don't just come around in the summer. Every now and then I've gotten lucky enough to catch them this late in the season, as they're heading for the colder waters just north of here."

A mother and calf surfaced several yards off the shore, calling to each other with soft, echoing cries that resulted in various other members of the pod circling around and rubbing against them before continuing on. Playfully, the calf turned on its back and swam with its white belly exposed to the sky for a moment before its mother nudged it with a fluke and it obligingly flopped back over and swam off a very short distance to play with another Beluga. Brennan watched their antics, mesmerized, until the pod eventually swam out of sight.

"Not bad, huh?" Booth ventured. "I mean, I know they weren't dolphins, but still."

Brennan turned her eyes back toward him. "You said your final surprise is better than this?"

"You'll think it is," he nodded.

"If I like your final surprise more than I liked this one, I'll share a secret with you that will give you significant ammunition to blackmail me with. Cross my pericardium, though I do not hope to die."

"That's a bet I'm definitely gonna win," Booth said confidently. "Sure you wanna make it without weighing the consequences more closely?"

She zipped her fleece up higher and shoved her hands in her pockets. "My mother always dreamed of seeing dolphins in the wild. She never had the opportunity to fulfill that dream. Inasmuch as I don't believe human beings retain any kind of sentience after death, I wish my mother could have shared this moment with me. She would have appreciated the whales."

"She did share it with you." Booth pointed at the sky behind her.

She looked in the direction he was gesturing and immediately rationalized what she was seeing.

"This is merely an example of pareidolia. I mentioned my mother to you and her desire to see a wild dolphin. Therefore, your mind created an image of the animal from random cumulonimbus patterns that you would otherwise most likely have regarded as regular clouds. It's the same type of misperception that causes people to believe they've seen an image of a religious icon on a grilled cheese sandwich."

Booth wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You can say it's a figment of my imagination, Bones, or a product of my Catholic faith, but that looks a hell of a lot like Flipper to me. When was the last time you saw a cloud the shape of a dolphin?"

Brennan told herself it was strictly her mind playing psychological tricks on her, but that never happened. She was in full control of her mental faculties, and could clearly distinguish the difference between illusion and reality, as behooved a rational person. There was however, no escaping the fact that the fluffy gray-blue cloud did bear a striking resemblance to the marine mammals that her mother had been so fond of.

"There is no empirical evidence—no evidence whatsoever—to support the notion that the deceased can communicate from beyond the grave," she said firmly.

Booth rested his chin on her shoulder. "You know why I was late meeting you at the airport in D.C.?"

She waited, knowing he would tell her whether or not she wanted to know.

"I went to my mom's grave, to tell her what we were doing and to ask her blessing on our trip." Booth turned her to look at him, his face completely serious. "I'd never even thought of bringing you to see the whales, Bones. I figured they weren't dolphins, so why bother? Mom told me to bring you here."

"Subconsciously, you recalled your enjoyment of the experience and wanted to share it with me. That's all that happened, Booth."

He shrugged. "Believe whatever you want to believe. But I know my mom was there at that moment, just like she is now. Just like yours is."

They turned back to the sky and stood watching until the rest of the clouds in the sky had drifted away and all that remained was the lone shadow of the cetacean.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

A large sign depicting various scenes of local life—a bear climbing out of a glacial lake, Inuit people fishing, locals dog sledding—greeted them as Booth drove the car to the edge of the first real town they'd seen since Sapphire. Bordering all four sides of the painting were the words:

**WELCOME TO INUVIK NWT**

**NEDANIHI NANAZGEE**

**QUAYANUK KIKUFFI**

**END OF THE DEMPSTER HIGHWAY**

A smaller wooden sign to the left discreetly informed them that this was the town farthest northwest of the Arctic Circle, boasting a huge population of 3500 people, and experiencing approximately 56 days of continuous sunlight every summer and 30 days of polar night every winter.

"Inuvik means 'place of man,' in the Inuit language," Booth translated, based on knowledge gleaned from previous visits. "The town isn't anything special, so don't be disappointed as we drive through it, Bones. We're only here to see one thing."

"I'm not concerned about being disappointed," she replied as they started driving down what was obviously the main road of the small town. The buildings on either side were all built in similar styles—somewhat gray and linear, with little defining personality, other than the signs advertising them as such and such restaurant, or bar, or other commercial venue. Equally square, standardized houses were interspersed among the other buildings, all of which were raised off the ground on wooden piers.

"Are the stilts because the permafrost was too difficult to penetrate when pouring concrete foundations?" Brennan asked.

Booth stopped at the town's one red light. "A local guy told me it also has to do with ice lenses. Apparently, the town is built on a lot of blue ice which melts incredibly fast when the sun's rays hit it at a certain angle, or when human activities inadvertently concentrate heat on the subsoil."

"Like a magnifying glass."

"Right. A few years ago, a fifty foot wide section of road dropped about 25 feet when the ice beneath it got overheated." He pointed at the insulated piping that ran along each side of the road. "Those are sewage and water pipes that can't be built into the permafrost because of the problem of overheating. Fresh water has to be delivered from the mainland regularly and sewage is picked up and trucked out on a regular basis."

"Living here requires a frontier mentality," Brennan surmised. "It would make an interesting anthropological study to spend time observing people's improvised lifestyles here."

The lone light turned green and Booth started forward.

"Locals swear that once you spend a few weeks here, you fall in love with the place in spite of the challenges."

"Maybe even because of the challenges?" Brennan suggested, a very small smile on the corner of her lips.

Booth grinned. "That could definitely be part of it."

They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Booth pulled into the parking lot of The Moose Motel. He parked the car and turned to Brennan.

"You wanna wash the mud out of your hair, maybe get something to eat besides a sandwich, and then go see my surprise?"

"I agree with that sequence of events, except for one detail." Brennan released her seat belt and opened her door.

Booth moved to open his and she held up a hand to stop him. Curious, he watched as she rounded the front of the car and motioned for him to roll down his window. He did as she asked. Brennan leaned in, one hand braced on the car door, the other firmly grasping Booth's shirt and pulling him towards her.

She should, by all rights, have been half dead from exhaustion after the long drive combined with the adrenaline rush of meeting the bear, and the physical exertion of the muddy hill. But there was no fatigue in her eyes or overall body language. All Booth saw on her face was a hint of amusement and twice as much desire.

Booth held the side of her face with one hand, giving himself more leverage for the kiss. His upper lip nestled in the groove below her nose, her own upper lip sliding in between both of his, their mouths slightly open and not quite pressed all the way together as their tongues touched. Unusually, they kept their eyes open this time, so Booth caught the full force of Brennan's intensely blue eyes as she stared into his. The mixture of laughter and relentless arousal in her gaze hit him directly below the belt.

"I want you," Booth growled into her mouth, catching the back of her neck and dragging her closer. "Now."

Brennan's chuckle was swallowed whole as he closed the gap between their mouths and kissed her ferociously, until the sounds coming from his partner were more moans of pleasure than peals of laughter. She'd been smart to keep the door between them, what with the reception of the motel just a few feet away. Even though Booth was friendly with the owners, they were a conservative couple and might not have appreciated a Booth and Brennan show being put on in front of other potential guests.

"Shower," Booth reminded her eventually, in between skimming his way across the backs of her teeth.

"Dinner," was her muffled response, followed by a nip at his lower lip that made him kiss her all the harder in retaliation.

He'd kissed her several thousand times by now, if not more, but he could never get enough of her. She kissed the way she did everything else—no holds barred, thorough to the extreme, the best at everything she did, this being no exception, with the added sweetness of knowing she was his and only his to kiss today, tomorrow, forever, if he had anything to say about it.

Only the thought of how Brennan would react to his surprise was enough to finally entice Booth into ending the kiss. Brennan was equally reluctant, and she warred with him for a moment before finally breaking away.

He climbed out of the car and avoided her attempt to immediately jump him again. Hot and bothered Brennan was a total turn-on, but he somehow managed to behave himself long enough to unload their bags. Then she reappeared from whatever she'd returned to the passenger seat for and pushed him halfway inside the back of the Jeep, crawling in to wrap herself around him again.

"Bones," he groaned, unable to resist running his hands all over her lithe curves. "Baby … ah, Bones … damn, you taste _so good_ …"

Her own hands migrated toward his belt buckle, where Booth caught her wrists tightly and raised them to his lips.

"At least wait until we're somewhere near a bed." He flinched when she pulled one hand free and trailed it south. "Stop, Bones," he commanded, trying hard to be stern when the back of the Jeep suddenly seemed like an ideal substitute for a soft mattress. "We have to stop."

Brennan sighed and pulled away at last. "There are times I wish you were less self-restrained."

"Is that right?" Booth said darkly, slamming the door shut and hoisting several bags in one hand. "In that case …" he snaked one arm around Brennan's waist, dropping low to squeeze her backside. "Wait until we get upstairs, Wonder Woman. Superman is more than ready to fly."

She rolled her eyes at his crude joke, but ground herself appreciatively against him anyway before reaching for her own bags. They avoided physical contact as they walked toward the door under the VACANCY sign, knowing that the slightest brush of their bodies would lead to spontaneous combustion in the parking lot.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The interior of the motel was surprisingly nicely decorated, given its ramshackle exterior. Deep, wine-colored recliners surrounded a limestone fireplace, looking perfect for curling up in with a good book after a long day outdoors. The matching shag rug looked equally inviting, and Brennan found herself hoping their rooms might have similar amenities. Beds were highly overrated.

An intricately carved coffee table was covered in literature about the area, much of it penned by locals, by the looks of it. Dark leather light fixtures were placed strategically throughout the room, their brightness comfortably dimmed by the leather shades so that the room seemed more backlit than overtly illuminated. The walls were covered with framed professional photographs of the surrounding landscape, arranged in between handmade pearl and shell mosaics of wildlife.

The reception desk itself was more standard-issue and seemed somewhat out of place in its plywood plainness, though it was draped with an obviously hand-woven piece of indigo and red cloth that somewhat muted the otherwise mass-produced effect.

Behind the desk a young Inuit woman was perched on a bar stool, perusing something or other on a computer. Glossy black hair, braided with a red strip of fabric, fell all the way to her waist. Her round face furrowed as she scrolled down the page, her almond-shaped eyes narrowed in apparent disapproval of something. She turned as the partners approached.

"Seeley Booth!" A soft accent colored her words. She hopped down from her stool and came out from behind the desk, smiling broadly. "You've been missed."

"Does everybody in Northern Canada know you?" Brennan asked, as Booth smiled and opened his arms to the woman. She stepped right into them, way too comfortable for Brennan's liking, even though the hug was very brief.

He stepped back and gestured between the two women. "Bones, this is Qamaniq. Her folks own this place. When I first started coming here, she was 17. Not even out of high school yet."

So that put the young woman in her mid twenties now, Brennan estimated, nodding politely and not extending her hand. She wasn't certain whether handshakes were part of this culture or not. Some native cultures found the gesture offensive.

"This is Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth continued. "You remember her."

Before Brennan could ask what he meant, since she'd obviously never met the woman before, Qamaniq smiled warmly.

"Your work partner. The one you were in love with, but whose heart would never be yours."

The phone behind the counter rang and she held up a hand, excusing herself momentarily to answer it.

Brennan turned to Booth. "Was it necessary to tell everybody about me?"

"I never told her I was in love with you," he flailed. "We were talking about my work and I told her you were my partner. She just eventually kinda … guessed."

Brennan frowned, not sure what to think of the fact that so many people had been aware of Booth's love for her before even she was.

"It was hard not to guess," Qamaniq said, hanging up the phone and leaning her elbows on the counter. "Every other word out of his mouth was about his partner. Teenagers pick up on things like that pretty fast."

"Bones,_ I_ didn't even know back then, okay?" Booth said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe everybody else did, but I was just figuring it out myself. Qamaniq, can we get a room for the next couple nights?"

"Bridal suite?" she inquired, turning businesslike as she swiveled back toward the computer and pulled up a new screen.

"No," Booth and Brennan said at the same time, prompting a questioning look from Qamaniq.

"Dating," Booth said hastily. "Seriously dating."

The woman pursed her lips as though she wanted to say something, then returned to the reservation screen. She typed rapidly, occasionally asking Booth a question, but most of his details were already in the system.

Brennan poked him in the ribs. "Why do people assume we're married?"

"You seem married," Qamaniq cut in, apparently not concerned about being overt with her eavesdropping.

"That's a nonsensical statement," Brennan said coolly. "The only way we would seem married is if we were wearing traditional matching rings. Other than that, there is no physical symbol that would serve as empirical evidence for a couple's marital status."

"You seem married," the woman repeated, holding Brennan's flashing blue eyes with her own calm black ones. "Here." She touched her heart lightly. "The way you carry yourselves around each other—from the moment you walked through the door, you seemed connected."

"We are," Brennan replied. "But I still fail to see what marker of marriage you seem to think we're carrying."

"Take it easy, Bones," Booth muttered, signing the credit card receipt way too hard. "She doesn't know how you feel about that stuff."

"I didn't mean to offend you." The young woman looked so contrite that Brennan felt guilty.

Qamaniq withdrew two brass keys from a drawer and handed them to Booth before speaking again.

"One of my strongest memories of my grandparents is of Ina sitting in the living room reading. My grandfather would walk by and just casually touch her shoulder. She'd light up, and so would he, without either of them ever saying a word. I thought I sensed the same affection between the two of you, but I apologize for speaking out of turn. My nickname as a teenager was Nosy. You can see why."

Brennan felt her throat tighten involuntarily. Why she felt the need to respond to this complete stranger, she wasn't certain, but it suddenly seemed important to make clear to both Qamaniq and Booth that the lack of a legal bond had nothing to do with her commitment to the relationship.

"My parents had a similar relationship to the one you described," Brennan said, avoiding Booth's eyes. "My mother is dead, and my father says he will never remarry because he'll never feel that comfortable with somebody again. I may not agree with marriage, but I do understand that sentiment. My relationship with Booth, both on a professional and romantic level, is irreplaceable."

Her partner coughed and shifted on his feet, obviously both pleased and embarrassed as he nudged her in the direction of the stairs, waving his thanks at Qamaniq.

"Breakfast still at 7:00?" he called as they started up the stairs, barely both squeezing into the narrow space with all their suitcases.

"7:30," Qamaniq called back. "Don't bother getting up. I'll invent some room service for you. Call it a favor for last time."

"What did you do last time?" Brennan asked as Booth paused to actually look at the keys he'd been given.

"The community had a fundraiser," he said vaguely, starting up the stairs again. "I pitched in a little. Nothin' big. Dammit. Bones, don't go gettin' all mad, okay?"

"Why would I be angry?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. Her partner was an extremely generous man, and she had no doubt that he'd done more than 'a little' to help out the small town's fundraising efforts.

He pulled her up short on the next landing. "She charged me for a standard room, but gave us the Bridal Suite anyway." Booth jerked his head in the direction of the set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

"Bridal suites are much better appointed than other rooms. I'm sure she intended it as a thank you for your kindness," Brennan said quickly, "Rather than as an implication of our marital relationship."

"Uh-huh," he replied skeptically, inserting the key in the first door and turning it to the left. A loud click reverberated in the silent hallway and Booth nudged the now open door with his hip. They stepped inside and stood mutely, staring.

Brennan took in the enormous king size bed dominating the middle of the room, covered in a beautiful weaving of the mountains. Floor to ceiling windows leading to a small balcony with iron wrought chairs gave them an unparalleled view of those same mountains. A second room, adjacent to theirs, was visible through a small arch revealing a fireplace similar to the one downstairs, several comfortable armchairs and a miniature kitchen.

"I swear, Bones." Booth turned to her with wide, worried eyes. "I didn't even know this existed. The rooms I've stayed in were basic—twin beds, TV, ironing board."

Brennan made up her mind to let the implications go. "Whatever your friend's reasoning in giving us the Bridal Suite, I much prefer this to the room you just described," she said, stepping towards her partner with a reassuring smile.

He sighed with relief and pulled her into his arms. "You know I'm not trying to push you or anything, right? I really didn't—"

"Stop," she ordered, reaching up to kiss him quiet. "I know, Booth."

The kiss was much softer and more tender than the one they'd shared in the parking lot, but the same latent desire lurked beneath the surface, just waiting for a match to start the fire all over again.

"I'd prefer to make love with clean hair," Brennan admitted eventually, as Booth reached for the hem of her shirt.

He stopped sheepishly and rested his forehead against hers. "Sorry. I don't have much self-control around you these days."

"I strongly disagree with that statement." She pulled away to rifle through her purse. "I wouldn't mind having you help me wash my hair, Booth … we haven't made love in the shower yet." She located her cellphone, smiling as Booth stepped up behind her again, clearly taking her words as an invitation to keep going. He nuzzled her throat and started to press small kisses along the small part of skin that was exposed by the high collar of her fleece.

"I just want to check my voicemail."

His response was to tug her collar down as far as he could and to nudge her hair aside so he could press his lips to the sensitive nape of her neck.

Struggling not to get distracted, Brennan dialed in her password and pressed the phone to the ear that Booth wasn't currently kissing. The first message was from an unfamiliar number and she frowned as loud static came on the line. Struggling to hear the garbled words, she pulled away from Booth and sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing 1 to hear the message again. It took several tries before she finally realized what she was hearing. By that point, all desire to make love had fled, along with her desire to do much of anything other than run.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The look on Brennan's face made Booth's gut tighten. He refrained from crowding her on the bed, staying where he was in the middle of the room as he asked, as casually as possible—just in case he was totally misreading things—

"What's up?"

Brennan listened to the message again, her expression getting more guarded by the minute, and flipped the phone shut.

"My father says hello."

Booth closed his eyes for a moment, desperately wanting to hang Max Keenan up from some high tree for interfering with his daughter's happiness yet again. When he opened them again, Brennan was on her feet, moving towards the door. In spite of his best intentions, Booth reached out and grabbed her elbow, causing Brennan to turn and scowl at him furiously. He dropped her arm immediately.

"I need space, Booth," she said tightly. "Don't follow me."

"Okay." He took a step back, trying to show her he was listening. "I won't. Just—Bones, where are you going?"

"Out." She opened the door.

"You don't know the town," he protested, following her into the hallway.

She rounded on him, her eyes seething with anger and hurt. "I can make my own way, Booth. _I can make my own way_."

She stalked down the hallway, leaving him staring after her helplessly.

"The temperature is gonna start dropping in an hour or two. Bones, you need another jacket."

Brennan ignored him completely, vanishing into the stairwell even as Booth was torn between chasing her down and making her tell him what exactly Max had said, kissing her until she stopped looking so completely lost, and letting her go until she figured things out for herself. In the end, he went with option 3 because he knew the other two would only wind up with her getting even angrier in the end.

Feeling more than a little lost himself, Booth stepped back into the room Qamaniq had gifted them with and inwardly cursed his friend's kindness. For all he knew, half of Brennan's reaction was due to her issues with the whole marriage thing. Maybe she did think he'd been hinting at something, and it wasn't all Max's fault that her whole expression suddenly screamed _Don't touch me! _

Miserable, Booth flopped down on the bed and turned on the television, randomly flipping channels until he finally hit on a hockey game. That held his attention for about 15 minutes, before he switched to a news channel to find out what was going on back at home. Another 15 minutes and he watched an old movie that reminded him way too much of Brennan as Roxie, so he turned the television off and paced the room aimlessly, trying to decide what the hell to do with himself even as his thoughts tumbled over each other like clothes in a dryer.

He was fairly certain things were solid enough between him and Brennan that, even after the ominous-sounding _I can make my own way_, the phone call wouldn't ruin anything permanently. But, then again, it was hard to tell with Brennan. Sometimes he got the feeling a trapdoor was positioned directly under their relationship, just waiting to open at the wrong minute and drive them apart all over again. Even if this did turn out to be only a minor setback, it could still seriously ruin the surprise he'd spent so many months planning. Hell, she could blunder onto the surprise by accident as she wandered around town. It wasn't that hard to find. Not that his surprise was all that important considering how upset she was …

He took an absurdly long 45 minute shower, hoping that by the time he got out she'd be back again, maybe wanting to join him under the spray, or be willing to talk, or at least be up for grabbing something to eat. But when he finally got out, she still hadn't returned.

Booth flipped through a magazine, checked his voicemail, and left a message of his own for Parker. He called downstairs to chat with an amiable but baffled Qamaniq, who clearly had expected her guests to be making better use of the Bridal Suite. He scanned some menus for local delivery places, even though he already had a restaurant in mind. He rifled through another magazine, watched more television, read some of the Gideon Bible in a hotel dresser drawer, and paced. He paced a lot.

It wasn't like it was going to get dark anytime soon, but the nighttime temperatures were still dangerously cold. It was almost 10:00 and Brennan was nowhere near dressed for her impromptu excursion. After the third hour elapsed with no sign of Brennan, Booth finally caved in and decided he was going to go after her and risk her wrath. He shrugged into a warm jacket and gathered up an equally warm windbreaker for Brennan, along with a heavy woolen sweater.

He was just starting toward the door when it opened and Brennan stepped inside. In the dim light of the room, her cheeks were visibly reddened from the cold and her lips were white, but she was clearly physically intact. A mixture of relief and anger swamped Booth. He dumped the clothes on a chair and started toward her.

"Don't." She cut him off before he could say anything, her voice exhausted, as though all the miles of the trip had finally hit her. "Please don't, Booth. I'm tired."

She picked up a nearby suitcase and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. A moment later, Booth heard the click of the lock. Rather than stay in the room and pace some more until she came back out, he opted to go in search of food.

When he returned 30 minutes later, he opened the door and found her wrapped in a towel, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her face was rosy from the steam of the shower; her damp hair curled appealingly at the ends. Booth tried hard not to notice how good she smelled even from halfway across the room.

She stood up as he walked in, clutching the towel to herself. "I didn't know where you went."

"That makes two of us," he replied curtly, holding up his paper bag. "Dinner. What's your excuse?"

"You're angry."

"Ha. You think?" Booth dropped the bag onto the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. "My partner was out wandering unfamiliar streets, with temperatures hovering near the 20s. Why would that make me mad?"

Brennan's lips thinned into a tense line. "There was no need for you to be worried."

"I'm gonna worry, Bones. You can take care of yourself, yeah, but it's my job to worry. That isn't going to change."

"That's all my father said on his message. That he was worried about me and he was sorry and he loved me. Nothing else," she said angrily. "I don't want you to worry, Booth."

"You don't get a choice on that, Bones." He shrugged. "People who love you are gonna worry. End of story."

"I don't want to bear the responsibility of making people worry. I never asked for my father to worry about me so much that he would leave." Her voice was rough with pain. "I never asked for anybody to love me."

Booth took a hesitant step toward her, then another when she didn't move away, and another, until he was directly in front of her.

"I didn't ask to love you either, Bones." He caught her shoulders "Neither did Angela or Hodgins or Zack. We didn't get a choice anymore about that than you did about us worrying about you. It just happened."

"I loved my parents, and they both were taken from me once, then twice. You say Zack loves me, but that didn't save him from being locked away. My father left because he wanted to protect me. Because he claims he loves me." She glared up at him bitterly. "What good does loving somebody ever do, Booth? Tell me."

"Love isn't a guarantee of happiness, Bones," Booth said softly. "All those years waiting for you? Didn't make me happy. Sometimes you love and you get nothing back. But it's worth the risk."

"Why?" she insisted, flattening her palms against his chest and gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. "Why is it worth being hurt so badly, so often?"

"Because sometimes you get lucky and wind up with something like this." He smoothed his hands down her bare shoulders. "Like us, Bones. You don't think that's worth it?"

She answered his question with a question. "If we have a child together, Booth, will you be able to love him in the same manner you love Parker?"

"Yes. Absolutely, 1000%, yes, Bones. I'll love our baby every bit as much as I love Parker."

"How can you be sure?" she demanded. "How do you know that you haven't expended all your reserves on one child already? Being a parent must be exhausting."

"Love doesn't work like that," he explained patiently. "There's enough to go around for everybody, Bones. And how could I not love a child created out of the love we have for each other?"

"Are you going to leave me, Booth?" she asked bluntly. "Like everybody else I've ever loved?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'll never leave you."

"What if you're killed in the line of duty?"

"I'll still be with you." Booth slid his arms around her waist. "I know you don't understand, Bones, but I'll never leave you. You're just going to have to trust me on that one."

Brennan abruptly dropped her head to his shoulder.

"I'm so cold, Booth. My body temperature isn't normalizing like it should be. I want to feel your skin against mine."

He didn't need to be asked twice. Dinner was completely forgotten. Wordlessly, he discarded his clothes, then helped her shed her towel and steered her toward the bed. They crawled under the sheets and she turned into his chest, wrapping herself around him tightly. He reciprocated, enfolding her in his arms and legs and drawing the blankets closely around them.

"Is it really worth it, Booth? Loving me, when I continue to hurt you?"

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "It is so worth it, baby. Worth every bit of pain and worry."

She shuddered. "Hold me more tightly."

He did, gathering her into him and trading his warmth for the peace that feeling her heartbeat next to his skin brought him.

"Rest up, Wonder Woman. First thing tomorrow, we're getting a decent meal and then heading out to see my last surprise."

"Booth," she murmured sleepily, her tense body gradually relaxing against his.

He yawned. "Huh."

"I didn't ask to fall in love with you either. However, I find that I'm glad I did, in spite of the upheaval it has caused in my life. You're worth it."

"Thanks, Bones." It was all he could do to bury his face in her hair and pretend to fall asleep, while inwardly his emotions registered at a 10 on the Richter Scale. Brennan had no way of knowing he'd never before heard those last three words from anybody. In some ways, they meant more than _I love you_.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Day 4 of 10**

Booth had fully intended for them to be out the door and headed for his final destination by 7:00 am, but Brennan's unique way of waking him up, followed by an extremely enjoyable, albeit crowded shower, kept them from leaving their hotel room until 11:00.

Qamaniq grinned at them as they emerged from the stairwell. "Good morning. I sent a guy up with room service around 9:00, but he said nobody answered the door."

It was obvious from the look on her face that she was imagining all manner of scenarios that could have kept the couple in bed so late. Furthermore Brennan's hand was intimately tucked into the back pocket of Booth's jeans, further derailing his attempts at discretion.

"Booth and I were—" Brennan began.

"_Bones_," he warned.

"We were making good use of your gift," the anthropologist continued calmly. "The lack of a marital contract between us has not hampered our sexual activities. I would conjecture that newlyweds would likely engage in the same amount of –"

"Bones!"

Qamaniq lifted a newspaper to her face to hide her smile, but amusement spilled over into her laughing black eyes.

Brennan looked innocently at her partner. "I thought you would enjoy having your sexual prowess expounded upon. You've frequently mentioned my failure to compliment you sufficiently. You're very virile, Booth."

He groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face, refusing to look in the direction of the reception desk, where muffled giggles were coming from behind the newspaper.

"We need to talk about your timing, Bones," he muttered under his breath, tugging Brennan's hand from his pants and lacing his fingers through it. "And you." He glared at Qamaniq. "Your brain needs a censor."

"I saved some breakfast for you," she answered, unperturbed. "Got a minute?"

Booth sighed. He knew all too well that Qamaniq's 'minute' for breakfast would likely turn into an hour, but how could he turn down what he knew would be a feast?

"I'm hungry," Brennan said, sealing the deal.

"Bring it on," Booth told the Inuit woman, who raised a hand indicating they should wait and vanished into a back room. "You better loosen your belt, Bones. This will be one meal you'll never forget."

"I'm not wearing a belt," Brennan replied, following him to the breakfast nook.

"Then I hope those jeans aren't as snug as they look." He glanced at the tight denim encasing her shapely curves. "You'll need to unbutton them after this."

"You could unbutton them for me," she suggested, getting a swat on her beautiful behind as they sat down on opposite sides of a small table crowned with a vase of scraggly purple wildflowers.

"Seriously, Bones." He leaned back in his chair with a happy sigh at the thought of the meal that lay ahead of them. "Qamaniq has this thing about spoiling newcomers rotten."

The chef herself appeared tableside, carrying two huge platters. "It brings them back, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah," Booth said eagerly, salivating at the homemade goodies. "You wanna tell me what all this stuff is again?"

Qamaniq set both plates in the middle of the table. "It's a little bit of several different regional specialties," she explained. "Our food isn't all that different from yours, but we have things we're known for, just like the U.S." She pointed at the first plate. "These are your sweets. They're all vegetarian."

"How did you know I was vegetarian?" Brennan asked in surprise.

"Booth," Qamaniq shrugged. "Nonstop talking about you, remember? He ranted and raved about your meal preferences as much as anything else."

Before Booth could crawl under the table in humiliation, Qamaniq indicated the pale yellow, Jell-O looking item she'd first pointed at. "Sucre a la crème—made with white sugar, brown sugar and heavy cream. My grandmother spent several years in Quebec and learned this from her mother-in-law. Try it."

She didn't have to ask twice. Booth and Brennan dished up a serving onto each of their individual plates and dug in. Brennan's eyes widened and she nodded almost as enthusiastically as Booth, who was moaning with delight.

"It's delicious."

Qamaniq smiled with satisfaction and gestured at a small, round pastry. "Butter tarts. Scots brought them to Canada. They're like pecan pie, without pecans. They have raisins and nuts instead."

"I dislike pie," Brennan said, getting a kick under the table for her honesty.

"I'll eat hers," Booth said quickly, snatching up the pastry and wolfing it down in two bites. He smacked his lips. "You might be a genius in the lab, Bones, but you can't be that smart, passing up one of these."

Brennan frowned. "My preference for savory over sweet has no bearing on my IQ."

He snorted and swallowed another tartlet almost whole. "Sure. What else, Qamaniq?"

"These are your main dishes, and none of them are vegetarian," she said apologetically, indicating the next plate.

"I can be flexible," Brennan assured her, sniffing appreciatively at the dish..

"Tortiere," Qamaniq pointed at a flaky, layered cube in the corner of the plate. "It's a meat-and-potato pie. This was my grandmother's own recipe. She tried to change it a couple of times, and my grandfather threatened to divorce her."

Booth might have worried about Brennan's reaction to the comment, but he was too busy digging into the pie with relish.

"You're an excellent cook." Brennan chewed slowly on her own piece of tortiere. "The spices complement the meat extremely well. Would you be willing to share your recipe?"

"Ina wouldn't mind," Qamaniq winked. "I'll type it up while you're out exploring. Try the poutine," she urged, pointing at the last item on the plate. "You loved it last time, Seeley."

He remembered. Oh, man, did he remember.

"I thought it would be disgusting," he admitted over a huge bite of the gravy-and-cheese-curd covered fries. "Tell me I was wrong, Bones."

She tried a bite tentatively. "You were wrong," she agreed, serving herself a larger helping and ignoring Booth's attempts to stave her off with his fork.

"Leave some for me," he complained. "You always take all the good stuff!"

"If you'd be more clear about your preferences for takeout Thai, there would be enough for both of us," Brennan retorted.

"Enjoy," their amiable chef and waitress said, as she departed back to the reception.

The partners vied for each crumb, flake and bit of sauce left on the main dishes, before finally sitting back with almost identical sighs of pleasure.

"Is she good or is she good?" Booth asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"I will attempt to learn more than one of her recipes, so as to replicate them back home," Brennan answered, just as Qamaniq reappeared tableside with two steaming to-go cups.

"Spiced coffee," she explained, hurrying away to answer the phone. "Ina's recipe, too."

By the time they staggered through the door of the hotel, it was close to 1:00 pm.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Qamaniq must hold you in very high esteem," Brennan commented. "However much she spoils other guests, I sincerely doubt she facilitates similar gastronomic experiences for every client."

"We're friends," Booth shrugged.

"You have many friends," Brennan observed. "Not all of them wait on you."

"I'm a friendly guy, Bones. Don't go gettin' jealous just because Qamaniq's pretty," he teased.

"She is very beautiful," Brennan acknowledged, squeezing his hand more tightly. "I dislike the fact that I am sufficiently insecure in our relationship to be a little jealous of her obvious affection for you."

"Bones, Qamaniq's like the kid sister I never had. There's nothing there other than friendship. But I like that you're jealous," Booth grinned, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Now would you pick up the pace? I want to get to my surprise before the next 6 weeks."

She smiled at his referencing their extended experiment and did as ordered, walking faster alongside him. They made their way down the street, with Booth pointing out restaurants he liked, bars he'd been to, etc.

As they passed a curiously shaped Catholic church, built to resemble an igloo, Brennan pulled Booth up short.

"You should light a candle for Parker."

Booth looked at her in surprise.

"I'm not suggesting it as a religious gesture. You previously explained that lighting a candle is a symbol of remembrance. I simply think that Parker would appreciate his father remembering him while on vacation."

The amazement on his face left Brennan with a warm glow—a feeling that she'd done something appropriate to atone for her behavior the previous night.

"And you're jealous of Qamaniq?" Booth looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, even though they were in the middle of the sidewalk. "Bones, the day I fall for another woman, you have permission to use my gun to shoot me for being an idiot."

"You never let me use your gun," Brennan said uncertainly. "Are you indicating ..."

"Yeah. I am. It's never gonna happen, Bones. Not me falling for another woman. And not you using my gun."

He didn't give her a chance to argue before he swooped in for a hard, deep kiss that didn't end until they were forced to come up for air.

"C'mon." Booth tugged her hand. "Let's go light that candle for Parker."

They entered the cool darkness of the church together and fell silent as they noticed the five or six people praying in the pews. Brennan cast her eyes upward as they walked toward the candles at the far end, taking in the intricate architectural structure of the building. A group of nearby tourists were less thoughtful of people's prayers and talked loudly as they posed for pictures besides various signs describing the building.

Brennan scowled in irritation. While she had no religious sentiments about their loud conversation, Booth had made it very clear on multiple occasions that he appreciated if she would at least show some kind of respect for his beliefs, whether or not she agreed with them. One such belief was being quiet—he would call it reverent—in a church. She suspected that taking pictures and talking loudly did not qualify as either.

Dropping his hand, she let him continue toward the candles on his own and detoured toward the tourists, who glanced at her in surprise as she walked up.

"I do not believe in God," she informed them. "However, anthropologically speaking it is not appropriate to interfere with a unique culture's practice of its beliefs. Your loud voices are interfering with the beliefs of people currently engaged in conversation with an imaginary being. Furthermore, you are disobeying the rules of this edifice." She pointed at the large sign directly behind them that read **"Please be respectful of the parishioners who call this their home church and frequently stop by to pray. Refrain from loud talking or flash photography when people are present in the pews, or services are in process."**

Satisfied that she'd sufficiently instructed the tourists on proper etiquette, she turned to find Booth staring at her from several feet away, both eyebrows raised.

Brennan shrugged, feeling awkward for no reason as they exited the church. To her relief, Booth didn't ask her about what she'd said to the tourists. Instead, he quietly mentioned,

"I lit a candle for your dad, too."

"Given that my father chose to disguise himself as a priest, I suppose he would find the gesture appropriate, even if he also does not believe," Brennan noted.

"You're welcome, Bones." Booth took her hand again and they continued on their way.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As they turned the corner to the site, Booth finally started to get a little worried. He'd been positive for months that this was exactly the right place to bring Brennan, to show her he was trying to better understand her passion for science as much as she was trying to figure out the whole romance thing. Now that they were on the threshold, however, he began to wonder whether he'd screwed up royally. After all, he knew nothing about anthropology or archaeology. What if the archaeological stuff wasn't anything special in the eyes of an expert?

The large tent loomed before them, its voluminous gray-white structure, the length of several football fields placed end to end, hovering imposingly on the outskirts of town. While there were no identifying markers on the weathered canvas fabric, Brennan's anthropological radar went off immediately.

Booth watched her eyes narrow as she took in the disturbed earth on all four sides of the tent, along with the orange nylon rope that formed an additional protective border.

"This looks like a dig site."

"Good guess, Bones." They stepped over the rope. "I've got special permission to look, so long as we don't touch anything or walk where we're not supposed to."

Brennan didn't reply. She unzipped the entrance flap to the tent and stepped inside, not waiting for Booth. He ducked in behind her and stopped, waiting nervously for her reaction.

The inside of the tent was far more impressive than its outside. Two-thirds of the vast interior were crisscrossed by neatly partitioned orange nylon grids, each labeled with yellow depth markers and crude homemade signs identifying the contents of the section.

One particularly large, sunken grid directly in front of them was labeled "short tunnel C". It contained an intricate stone floor, surrounded by larger boulders that indicated this would have been the entrance to some kind of building. It looked, for all the world, as though the Inuit person who had carefully pieced it together from local rock specimens somewhere around 1250 AD would be returning any minute to sweep it.

Beyond the tunnel floor was another marker labeled "kitchen room 5, 9." Deep within the excavated permafrost, at the edges of another flagstone floor, were traces of black charring and pieces of pottery. Some were hollowed-out, obviously remnants of some kind of crude bone spoon or ladle. Booth tried to imagine an ancient grandmother spooning up seal stew for her grandchild, maybe spiced up with some of the cloudberries the region was famous for. Was it even warm enough for cloudberries to exist back then?

Others shards with double lines decorating their edges seemed to be more interesting to Brennan than the kitchen utensils. She walked carefully along the designated path and stooped to more closely scrutinize the smooth blue-gray fragments.

"Soapstone," she announced. "More commonly associated with the Canadian Shield—indicating complete vessels were being traded, potentially with Alaska."

Booth didn't know what she was talking about, exactly, but the squinty look on her face gave him hope that he'd gotten this right after all.

"Qamaniq first showed me the site. She said this was a really important place for her people. It was a caribou crossing, so a large community of Inuit spent their summers and falls here."

Brennan picked her way across to another grid labeled _talut_. This one was littered with tiny pieces of bone. He could see her eyes gleaming with the desire to get at them and attempt to piece them together, but her training restrained her. "This was most likely a shooting pit, which would have been the culmination of the long drive lines the Inuit frequently hunted in."

She pointed at another grid several feet away that contained a remarkably well-preserved three-pronged artifact that was labeled _kakivait_, beside what looked like a stone cache, labeled _gingniit_. "Given the proximity of the site to a major river, it's likely these were fish spears, utilized after the caribou had ceased their yearly migration and the community turned to the river for their food."

She continued methodically moving from grid to grid, talking to herself as she identified various structures and objects. Booth followed and Brennan automatically treated him like a student or fellow squint, indicating objects of interest and elaborating on their posited significance.

"Hearths. There are at least 17 of them, indicating a large, established community. The site would have to have been permanent for at least 6 months of the year in order to justify this kind of structure."

"Two longhouses indicate an established pattern of communal gatherings. One may have been for men, the other for women. It's likely this would have been a matriarchal society, with the female elders playing a critical role in making decisions about daily life, such as when to move on to another site."

A small needlecase especially excited her, sending her into full-on lecture mode about how the similarities between this and that and something or other else crystallized a connection between a culture she'd studied in some other place … Booth really didn't understand half of what she was rambling about, but it didn't matter. Her animated face and gesturing, along with her increasingly incomprehensible dialogue, told him everything he needed to know. As much as Brennan was capable of doing so, she was acting like a kid in a very ancient candy store.

"Look at this intricately carved child's toy, and the surrounding miniatures of human faces. Many early societies utilized similar carvings as religious tokens. The juxtaposition of these artifacts indicates a potentially very different mentality. Furthermore, the intricacy and sheer volume of the carvings denotes a comfortable, settled life that allowed for such pastimes."

"These harpoon shafts and microblades are finely made. Their complexity clearly links them to modern Inuit culture."

Booth lost track of how long they were inside the tent, but by the time Brennan seemed to have had her fill, it had to have been more than a few hours as the interior eventually began to darken when the angle of the sun changed.

Brennan knelt in a far corner, scanning the tent as though revisiting each section in her mind, before finally looking up at Booth. The expression on her face was one he'd never seen before. He couldn't even give it a name, which made him a little worried all over again. He was used to being able to read Brennan easily.

"Was this always what you had planned as the last surprise of your half of our vacation?"

Even her tone was unfamiliar. Booth stepped cautiously, certain she was happy, but aware that her mood had a tendency to be studded with unexpected minefields.

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, after Qamaniq showed me this place a couple of years back, I've always wanted to bring you out here."

She looked surprise. That much, at least, he could tell from the slight pursing of her lips. "You thought of bringing me here before we began the experiment?"

"Well, yeah. This is your thing, Bones. It's not like I can even look at museums or human remains and not think of you anymore. I just couldn't figure out how to get you to take a vacation with me that had no connection to our work."

"I might have agreed to come, had you downplayed the romantic potential of the vacation," she commented, her voice neutral.

"Yeah … I doubt it," he replied. "No offense, Bones, but you probably would have said you were busy and then figured out a way to fly out here on your own."

She processed that comment and seemed to take it well. "So you didn't tell me because you knew I would turn down your invitation and you didn't want me to see the site on my own."

Okay, that sounded really bad, but he still couldn't quite figure out whether she was mad or not, or something altogether different.

"It wasn't like that. I wasn't hiding it from you, Bones. I just … I guess I was holding out hope that one day things would change." He paused, trying to figure out how to get her to understand. "I wanted to see your face when you first saw it. Okay?"

"Why?"

"I like seeing you excited. It's kind of like when you gave me that Bakelite phone for my last birthday, Bones. You asked me to wait to open the present until we met up at the diner that evening."

Understanding finally gleamed in her eyes. "I wanted to see your face."

Relieved, Booth nodded. "You picked out this present you knew I'd love, and you wanted to watch me unwrap it."

Brennan got to her feet and dusted her knees off before speaking again. "You waited a long time for me to unwrap this gift."

He shrugged, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. "It was worth the wait."

Worth the wait was the understatement of the century, he reflected as she reached out and unzipped his coat. She pulled the two sides apart and stepped into him, her breasts pressed firmly into his chest, her hips flush against his. She smiled then, one of those rare, ear-to-ear grins that very few privileged people ever got to witness on Temperance Brennan's face.

"I love my present, Booth."

Booth looked down at her, his heart doing double and triple time at how happy she looked. There was nothing he wouldn't do for this woman. He would literally go to the ends of the earth to see her so ecstatic.

"But you are correct," she continued, flattening her palms on his shirt. She slid them slowly up his chest, until they came to rest right below his shoulders. "It meant much more to unwrap it in your presence."

"Can we go back to the hotel now, so I can unwrap you?" Booth kissed her with much more restraint than he felt like exercising. He figured that rolling around in bone dust, crushing ancient artifacts and disturbing the ghosts of Qamaniq's ancestors probably wouldn't sit well with his partner.

"This vacation was my present," she countered, dropping a hand and tugging on his belt buckle mischievously. "So I will do the unwrapping. However, I have no desire to wait this time."

If Qamaniq's Ina was anywhere nearby, she got an eyeful long before the partners made it back to their bridal suite. Booth's straight laces had come unwound at some point during the vacation, and Brennan made full use of that awareness. It turned out that love making inside the tent was off limits, but the woods not far beyond were very much acceptable as an alternative to the ten minute walk returning to the hotel would have required.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Inuvik is real. ****However, I moved the (also real) archaeological site from a neighboring town (not accessible to the Dempster and therefore not in line with the story plot.) So both places are authentic, as is everything mentioned in the chapters of Booth's date, but there are a few geographical/authorial license discrepancies, just FYI.**

**Thank you, thank you, ****thank you****, to everybody who gave so generously of their time by reviewing in great length and detail about what they've enjoyed about the story so far. You've really encouraged me to see this through to the end. (Again, yes, there IS a planned ending. It's approximately six chapters away, depending on how I wind up splitting them due to overall length. So it could wind up being eight, but definitely no more than ten. It's time to bring this story to a close, and I do realize that.)**

**Brennan's vacation will probably only be two chapters long, as several of you have suggested the pacing is a bit off by this point, so I want to make sure I take that feedback into consideration. Hopefully Brennan's chapters will pick up the pace enough to satisfy those of you who feel things are going a bit too slowly right now. =)**

**Yes, Brennan will eventually reveal the blackmail-worthy secret she hinted at earlier in the chapter. She just got a little distracted and forgot... come to think of it, he was sort of distracted, too. =)**

**Preview of 70: Brennan's first day of vacation has all manner of surprises in store for Booth. One of them involves a ****very different**__**mile high club than you might expect. Another involves music. Lots of music, in the last place ****you'd**** ever expect to see Booth … also in the last place ****he'd**** probably ever expect to see himself … **


	70. Angels on the dancefloor

**A/N: Brennan's half of the vacation begins. In answer to questions, yes, the vacation is 14 days, but some of them count as travel time to and from Canada, Albuquerque, Arizona, DC. etc, hence the reason my day count in the story is only 10.**

**This chapter is far shorter than I had anticipated. I've got a horrible cold and haven't had the energy to write when I get home late in the evenings. So, Brennan's chapters may actually extend longer than anticipated. Or not. Just a warning for those who had issues with the pacing.**

**If you haven't figured it out yet, I love music =), so taking Booth and Brennan somewhere that I could automatically incorporate any number of songs was fun. There's a brief song-fic like element to one or two scenes in the chapters of Brennan's vacation. (If you're not into stories that deliberately incorporate lyrics as part of the plot, don't worry. The scenes are brief.)**

**As always, thanks to my amazing beta Eternal Destiny for squeezing time into her extremely busy schedule in order to keep me writing and posting.**

**And thanks to all those of you who left me kind birthday wishes and feedback last week. I hope you enjoy this offering.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Day 6 of 10 **

"Man, I hope that bed feels as good as it looks."

Booth dropped his share of their bags just inside the room's door and took a flying leap at the king-size bed draped in a dark chocolate-hued bedspread edged with equally bold red. The mattress sank as he landed on it stomach first.

Arranging her bags much more neatly beside his, Brennan closed the door and watched, amused, as her partner flopped over and spread his arms and legs wide, crowing.

"_Oh, yeah."_ He thumped a fat pillow for emphasis. "This is what I'm talkin' about, baby."

"You were most recently talking about craving a green chile burger, not a bed," she noted, reaching up to let her hair out of its ponytail.

Their trip back from Canada had been rather longer than anticipated. They'd departed Inuvik late on the evening of Day 5 via a small mailplane that yet another of Booth's friends offered up as free transportation to Ontario. It was less luxurious than Hodgins' jet, to say the least, but they'd both eagerly anticipated the executive suite onboard the Learjet enough that the turbulence and overall cramped seating in the tiny plane had been minor discomforts.

What they hadn't expected was that Hodgins' plane would be delayed by hurricane-force winds off the coast of North Carolina, forcing them to fly last-minute commercial back to the States. That in itself wouldn't have been so problematic, even if they were directly adjacent to malodorous bathrooms, one of which was frequently occupied by a very noisy, very sick toddler and her frantic mother. But the same family precipitated a medical emergency landing when the baby started having seizures, likely from dehydration.

Bad weather in the area then grounded multiple flights, cramming every hotel and motel in the area with angry passengers. After a fruitless search for a room, Booth and Brennan had spent the night sleeping on the floor of Des Moines International Airport. In spite of everything, Brennan found that the memory of curling up beneath a window, her head pillowed on her tired partner's chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively to ward off the air-conditioned chill, was one she was happy to have. Opening her eyes to discover that he'd somehow slipped away without waking her and brought back coffee and donuts was another.

Booth raised his head slightly. "Come try it out," he invited, patting a spot beside him on the bed.

Brennan massaged her tight scalp with the tips of her fingers and craned her neck left and right to ease out the kinks. "I would like a shower before we officially start my half of our date."

"Got big plans for tonight, Bones?" He sat up to remove several layers of clothing. Albuquerque was much warmer than Canada or Iowa had been.

Not for the first time, Brennan found herself getting aroused simply by observing the way in which Booth undressed. As he reached back and yanked off his FBI sweatshirt with one hand, she gravitated toward the bed. When his head emerged from the fabric, all disheveled hair and stubbled jaw, Brennan was waiting to pounce.

"Whoa." Booth chuckled as she climbed on top of him. He combed his fingers through her hair, the gentle caress easing away the strain from the last day's travel. "What about that shower?"

She'd discovered that she enjoyed gentle quite a lot, but today she was feeling frustrated from all the delays to her own vacation and, thus, aggressive.

"Making love will provide a similar release of tension relieving endorphins," she replied, pulling impatiently at his T-shirt. "Take it off, Booth."

"You first."

He assisted her in removing the two sweatshirts, pulling them over her head as she peeled them upwards.

As he took in the blouse she was wearing, his eyes darkened to a shade that almost matched the bedspread.

"It's not the same one, obviously," she said in response to his unspoken question, quickly undoing the first buttons. "We haven't been near any laundry facilities lately."

He placed his hands over hers and stopped her from continuing to undress. "I can't wait for all those buttons tonight." Booth grasped either side of the garment in his big hands.

Heat speared through her at the blatant innuendo in his words and she leaned back, nodding her consent. He yanked hard, sending buttons flying every which way. Before she could even begin to process how arousing aggressive Booth was, he grabbed her by the waist and rolled her underneath him, pinning her in between the mattress and his large frame.

If she'd been the type, she might've swooned at how good it felt when his mouth descended on her skin while his hands reached automatically for the zipper on her pants. Instead, she yanked at his remaining clothing, demanding that he remove it. He unfastened his lips from her throat and sat up just enough to peel away his shirt, revealing the broad, lean expanse of his chest to her hungry eyes.

"You want me, Bones?" He hovered just above her, tormenting them both with the promise of his bare skin against hers.

In response, she dug her nails into his shoulders and yanked him down to her again, wrapping her legs around his waist and flipping them over so she was on top this time.

"You want me, Booth?" she teased in return, unsnapping his jeans and enjoying the lust on his face when she shook her hair back in the way that she knew drove him crazy.

He peeled the straps of her bra down her shoulders, partially pinning her arms, and tugged the cups down just enough so she was exposed to his hungry gaze. "Every second of the day. Even on that damn mail plane."

He didn't give her time to question his hyperbole—how could he possibly have been aroused on a ride that bruised both their tailbones with its lack of seat cushioning, not mention other parts of their anatomy when they were tossed around like the freight packages they were accompanying?—before sliding one hand inside her half open jeans, while with the other he grabbed her waist and tugged her down so her breasts were in line with his mouth.

His name began as a moan on her lips and increased to a breathless chant as he took her sky high with his lips and tongue and teeth and the tease of his fingers below, through fabric he hadn't removed completely.

In spite of the boneless state he so expertly reduced her to, Brennan recovered quickly and reciprocated in kind. She derived a similar amount of pleasure from her partner's own groans of satisfaction when she explored his hard body with her nails and mouth before he flipped them a third time. As they climbed the ladder of desire together more than a little loudly, it became a very good thing that she'd reserved the lone room on the top floor—the presidential suite—or other hotel guests would most certainly have been demanding their eviction sooner rather than later.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He couldn't get enough of her. In spite of their very recent love making session, Booth felt his whole body tighten with renewed need as Brennan emerged from the bathroom dressed in a white blouse that was scooped just low enough to make him worry about the looks she'd get once they stepped outside the room. Then there was the skirt. Even though it was ankle-length, the fitted, gathered folds did more than just hint at the long legs beneath. She looked soft and feminine and so sexy that he warred with the desire to tumble her to the bed and undress her all over again, much more slowly this time.

"Where we headed?" he asked, in a bid to distract himself as she stood in front of mirror and did her hair.

"I decided that I would attempt a conventional date," she answered cryptically, reaching for one of the necklaces she'd laid out neatly on the nearby dresser.

Drawn like a magnet to her, Booth got up from the armchair he'd been sprawled comfortably in and went to stand behind her. He took her chosen necklace, an onyx string of oddly-shaped beads, from her fingers.

"Let me."

She didn't protest as he deliberately brushed his fingers across the sensitive sides of her throat before fastening the clasp and placing a kiss at the base of her neck. Brennan tilted her head, inviting him to continue. Regretfully, he squeezed her waist and stepped away.

"If you want me on my feet for this date, we better get going, Bones." He was more tired than he cared to admit after the last few days of nonstop travel.

"You will be on your feet the majority of this evening." Brennan patted the last strand of hair in place again and straightened the necklace more to her liking. "You once told me you enjoy going dancing on the weekends, but we've never danced anywhere except our apartments."

"Seriously?" The tiredness fell away as she turned from the mirror and smiled at him just a little shyly. He loved bashful Brennan almost as much as her take-charge alter ego and her willingness to try new things. "We're goin' dancing?"

"You will have to teach me," she warned. "I have more than slow dancing in mind."

He grinned broadly at the implication. "Bones, are you taking me clubbing?"

"I'm still not entirely certain I understand the parameters of 'clubbing,'" she replied as they headed for the elevator. "Angela has taken me several times, and each has involved large quantities of alcohol, tribal music and—"

"Tribal music?" Booth repeated, mystified.

"Hip hop mirrors the visceral connection seen in tribal communication." She pressed the button for the lobby.

He covered his face in horror. "Bones, you know you can't go saying that stuff inside a club, right?"

Brennan shrugged. "I fail to see why people would be insulted by a commentary on the anthropological connection between their choice of music and people's collective tribal heritage."

Booth decided to avoid that conversation, knowing it was a complete dead-end no matter what he said. "So, hip-hop?" They exited the elevator. "What, Bones, are we gonna get crunk?" he teased.

The warm Albuquerque night wrapped itself around them when they stepped onto the street. He could see her reach back in her memory to the case they'd worked involving the genre of music.

"If you're referring to the genre fusing hip hop and electronic music, wherein the tracks utilize a drum machine rhythm, a heavy bassline, and a call and response manner, you would be correct in your assertion that it is similarly tribal in nature." Brennan unlocked the door of the Prius she'd rented.

"Uh, Bones?" Booth stopped halfway into the car, suddenly nervous. Much as he enjoyed dancing with Brennan, the visual of her bouncing around wildly in a crowded room, possibly bumping into very drunk bums and then offending them with her commentary, didn't give him a good feeling about the direction the evening might be headed. A bar brawl was not high on the list of his "memorable moments" fantasies. "Are we really going to a club?"

She settled into the driver's seat and waited until he got in, then started the engine. "Given that we are in the southwest, I thought it would be interesting to explore a different form of dance."

He frowned, no happier with that answer than the previous one. "Where exactly are we going?"

"One of my university contacts here recommended a place that plays a variety of music, but largely focuses on traditional music common to the Southern United States. The linear dance associated with the genre would seem to be easier for me, given the repetitive nature of the steps."

"Traditional … southern … linear …" Booth put the pieces together with growing alarm. "Bones—you're not—we're not—are you taking me _line dancing_?"

"That was the term my contact used, yes." She turned the corner from Old Town, heading down Central Avenue in the direction of the foothills they'd flown over earlier in the day.

He swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to tell her, without hurting her feelings, that there was no way in hell he was going to do the Achy Breaky shuffle.

"Do you have any familiarity with the form?" she asked. "If not, we can learn together, Booth. I will appreciate not being at a complete disadvantage, given that you are a much better dancer than I am."

What was he supposed to say? Under any other circumstance, he would have been clear about his refusal to do-si-do or do the grapevine, but this was the first day of her planned vacation. Given that she'd gamely faced down wolverines, grizzly bears and hills from hell without complaint, he couldn't exactly wimp out on her first outing just because he was more than a little scared of what clubbing with Brennan might wind up looking like. Plus, he could see the excitement on her face and, God help him, he couldn't pop that bubble of happiness by informing her of his wholehearted hatred of "the form."

"You said different kinds of music," he hedged, grasping for straws. "So this isn't strictly a country club, then?"

"I don't know what that means, but that's the place." Brennan nodded her head in the direction of a stocky cowboy silhouette in the background of a neon yellow sign:

**SIDEWINDERS**

Booth eyed the cowboy cutout suspiciously, the gun holster riding low on the figure's overly-emphasized hips and tight leather pants. Something felt serious off here, beyond the obvious country connection.

He refrained from saying anything until they parked the car, paid at the entrance and stepped inside, at which point the whole situation became blatantly obvious to anyone who wasn't Temperance Brennan. A poster of a half-naked cowboy with his butt hanging out of cut-out leather chaps greeted his suddenly seared eyeballs. Then there was the huge rainbow flag draped across the back wall.

"_Bones_." Booth grabbed her by the shoulders as she attempted to make her way to the bar, which was covered in NMGRA logos above a whole bevy of mixed drink menus.

"What?"

"Bones—" he fumbled. "Is your university contact by any chance gay?"

"Do you know Marvin?" she asked in surprise.

"I don't need to," Booth muttered. "This is a gay bar."

She looked around with obvious interest, finally seeming to notice the couples ensconced in each other at the bar, scattered around various tables, and on the dance floor. Some were more flamboyantly attired than others, but all had one very clear thing in common. Booth realized with dread that she was about to make an anthropological comment of some kind—probably the kind that would get them in serious hot water.

He yanked her into him and laid a hard kiss on her lips. "Don't," he warned into her mouth. "Or this will turn out worse than the last club fight you started."

When she attempted to protest, he smothered her words with further kissing, all the while knowing he could only keep this up another moment or two before she got good and mad at him. He tried to walk her backwards out of the club, and got a smack on the chest for his troubles.

"I mean it, Bones." He darted a glance around to make sure nobody else had picked up on her intention to dissect the entire culture under her usual abrasive lens. "Let's get out of here and go somewhere else."

She pulled away from him furiously. "Why? I was never aware that you were homopho—"

He clamped his hand over her mouth and smiled guiltily at a curious passerby, even as Brennan attempted to bite him. "I'm not. I just—trust me on this one, Bones. DO NOT say whatever you're thinking."

Finally she stopped struggling against his hand and seemed to get at least part of his message. "Given that this is a heavily marginalized subculture, you believe that any anthropological comments I make might be misinterpreted as offensive."

"Yeah." He sighed with relief, thinking he'd finally gotten through to her.

"I'm quite certain you're wrong about that." Brennan yanked away and headed straight for the bar.

Booth blanched and chased after her, only to be waylaid by outlandishly outfitted waiters toting heavy trays of pink drinks that he definitely didn't want spilled all over him. By the time he caught up with Brennan, she was leaning intently toward the stone-faced, heavily tattooed bartender, babbling away.

"This bar is no different from a tribal fire pit. Individuals with something in common gather here for mutual support and affection."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Booth apologized, knowing he'd just earned himself time in the Brennan penitentiary for that one. He grabbed her shoulders again and attempted to steer her away. "Let's get outta here."

Brennan might have punched him right then and there, but the bartender chose that moment to slide an unfamiliar beer across the bar wordlessly. "Warm, like you asked for. I had one under the counter that hadn't been iced yet." Then she smiled. "First time at Sidewinders?"

Booth watched in amazement as his partner and the bartender began to chat comfortably about the anthropological significance of the place, with Brennan occasionally shooting him smug glances when the woman moved away to get Booth his drink.

"Just because she's okay with it doesn't mean everybody else is," he warned, accepting the very cold beer that Naomi plunked down in front of him.

"You have an overly developed sense of political correctness."

"It's so overly developed that it keeps me alive," Booth shot back.

"I want to dance." Brennan hopped down from her stool as the latest song, an unfamiliar mariachi ditty, wound down. "Are you coming, or should I find a more willing partner for the evening? Angela has informed me that I am considered attractive by many women."

"Don't even think about it," Booth growled as he trailed her toward an empty spot on the dance floor.

"Is your jealousy due to the fact that I would be dancing with a potentially attractive member of my sex, or because I would be dancing with somebody else?"

"I don't like you dancing with anybody other than me. Period." Booth stood awkwardly in their corner of the dance floor, waiting for some kind of music to start playing.

"I know this song!" Brennan said excitedly as a tune finally started up.

It _would _be Hot Chocolate's _Sexy Thing_, Booth mused to himself as Brennan started to dance in her own adorably weird way, somehow managing to blend in completely with the rest of the gyrating crowd for a change. He was the one who felt like a complete outsider, standing dumbly as she danced around him. But he couldn't resist her here anymore than he could back at the apartment, not with those shining blue eyes, and definitely not with her body grinding into his with every beat, taunting him into following along.

"Dance with me, Booth."

So he did.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Naomi Doherty enjoyed people-watching. It kind of came with the bartending territory. Over the years, she'd gotten to where she could pinpoint somebody's personality almost from the moment they walked through the swinging door. Temperance Brennan was an exception to that split-second assessment. Her big lunk of a boyfriend fell very squarely into several neat checkboxes, but Naomi couldn't find a category for the anthropologist.

Brennan was simultaneously worldly and naïve, as much as she was abrasive and mild. She oozed self-confidence and obviously didn't give a damn what people thought, but also wanted very much to be liked and to say the right things, without compromising her beliefs. Naomi suspected that she couldn't put Brennan in a group because Brennan was still trying to figure out where she fit in.

It was a slow night, and Naomi had time to observe the newcomers. They stuck out like sore thumbs more because of the way they were wrapped around each other than because of their sexuality. Unlike other places Naomi had worked at, couples going home together didn't happen all that often at Sidewinders. Regulars came to the bar to unwind and maybe find someone to hide from the world with for a few hours, before returning to the anonymous drama and commitment of their daily lives.

Anybody with a pair of eyes could tell that Booth and Brennan were going home together tonight, had been going home together for quite some time already, and probably would continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Naomi dried glasses and watched their interaction on the dance floor. Brennan was the less reticent of the two. She was fearless in her approach to the music, throwing her body around with gusto, no matter the tune. Booth awkwardly attempted to make his girlfriend happy without shedding the macho mantle he wore aggressively, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. They tracked Brennan's every move, alternately amused, annoyed and embarrassed, but always, consistently, there was that softness—a kind of wondering amazement that he was the lucky guy on the receiving end of her antics. It had been a long time since Naomi saw that look.

Love kept him on the dance floor through song after song, even when some of them caused the uptight FBI Agent to cringe. It was just his luck that the DJ tonight was fond of random music choices with a decidedly romantic bent. _My Girl, Open Arms, Til I Kissed Ya _and _Just the Way You Are _made Booth duck his head and roll his eyes, but he stayed. The softness in his eyes glowed like fire in the darkened room as he stared down at his partner, whispering inaudible words that made Brennan alternately laugh, scold, or reach up to punch or kiss him.

_Truly Madly Deeply _and _I Run to You _elicited outright groans. Still, Booth stayed. He avoided Brennan's clumsy feet as much as possible and said nothing when they trampled all over his spit-shined toes. When she finally realized that she wasn't being as graceful as she thought, Brennan's face fell and Booth pulled her closer still, inviting further carnage to his shoes in a bid to make her feel better.

Naomi was positive that a series of line dances, followed by_ Staying Alive _and _Let's Get it Started_ would send Booth racing for cover, but he shook his head, laughed sheepishly and danced along, his eyes darting around and daring anybody to make fun of him or, worse yet, Brennan.

It wasn't until the DJ cued up _I Will Survive _that Booth finally balked and told Brennan she was on her own for this particular set. Naomi watched him settle on a bar stool, his position subtly angled toward the dance floor.

The bartender slid a cold one over to him. "On the house."

Surprised, he raised the bottle in thanks and took a sip, his eyes automatically turning back to seek out the ecstatically bouncing Brennan.

Naomi reached under the bar, coming to a decision.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Her name was Savannah."

Booth pulled his eyes away from the dance floor and glanced at the picture that had been slapped down in front of him. It was of a young woman, probably early 30s. She had curly brown hair, almond eyes that were squinting with laughter and a small gap in her friendly smile.

Confused, he looked up at the bartender who was polishing a glass carefully with a dishtowel. Setting the glass aside, she casually held out her arms, palm-side up. "A lot of shit went down in my life before she showed up in it."

Booth just had a chance to take in the series of ragged scars before she lifted another glass.

"It took her three years to convince me she was worth giving love another try." She nodded at an approaching customer and handed over a drink without waiting for the order, admonishing, "Your tab's a mile long, Neil." She resumed her polishing more vigorously than before, rubbing away imaginary fingerprints with intense concentration.

"We had two years together before an undiagnosed heart condition ended things." She looked up from the beer mug and looked him square in the eyes. "I woke up one day and she was dead beside me."

Booth swallowed hard, wondering why she'd decided to share such personal information with him, trying to figure out what the right thing was to say. "I'm sorry for your loss." The words always felt hollow, but rarely as much as they did tonight.

The woman leaned forward, pinning him to the spot with the self-recrimination in her gaze. "Don't let her out of your sight," she said fiercely, her hands gripping the edge of the bar fiercely. "Every moment counts as a memory."

"Come back, Booth." Brennan popped up beside him. Oblivious to what she'd just interrupted, she grabbed his hand and pulled insistently.

As he followed her back onto the dance floor, he looked over his shoulder at the bartender. She was pouring a shot behind her back for a group of rowdy customers, her pain momentarily shelved just like the vodka bottles reflected in the mirror. She looked up briefly and saw him staring.

"Every. Single. Moment," she mouthed, before turning back to her captive audience.

"Booth," Brennan insisted, drawing his attention with a huge, mischievous smile as he finally picked up on the familiar refrain blaring over the speakers and she gleefully shouted, "Bryan Adams!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"This was one of your first musical valentines to me," Brennan said into Booth's chest as they swayed together in their corner to The Who's _Sunrise_.

The memory of being led blindfolded through that field, sitting in the swing and talking the night away, having him hold her tightly as the sun rose above DC, wasn't one that she was likely to forget anytime soon.

"In your note to me that evening, you thanked me for trusting you." She lifted her head to smile at him. "Thank you for trusting me tonight, Booth, in spite of your reservations."

He traced her cheek with his thumb, smiling back. "Can I trust you not to tell the whole world I did the tush push?"

"You were very good at it." Brennan reached back to squeeze said firm tush playfully. "Do I have more ammunition for blackmail now?"

He caught her hands, visibly shuddering at the thought. "Lingerie, line dancing, Bryan Adams. Yeah … that'd just about kill my reputation at the Bureau."

She couldn't help but love him all the more for his blustering masculinity and the contrast it provided to the soft side he showed only to her.

But Booth now had his own new bit of ammunition to fight back with.

"If you tell anybody about me line dancing, I'll tell the whole Jeffersonian about your attempt at being a cowgirl."

Brennan pulled back, frowning in dismay. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would," he assured her with an evil grin.

Halfway through their evening, she'd insisted on giving the club's mechanical bull a whirl. She was tenacious and probably lasted longer than most, but when she was eventually propelled off she landed on top of a burly bartender who wasn't nearly as friendly as Naomi, especially given that his tray of $5 shots was now all over Brennan.

"I even took a picture." Booth patted the cellphone in his pocket. "The look on your face …" he trailed off, laughing at Brennan's horrified expression. "Kidding, Bones. I'm kidding. You really think I'd do that do to you?"

Brennan smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't anticipated that the bull's movements would be quite so erratic. The mechanism would be of interest to Zack."

"I wish I had a video of you wearing that guy's hat, screaming _Yee ha_." Booth grinned and dropped his head for a kiss. "I might not have a picture, but I'll definitely spill the Kufu beans if you tell anyone about the Macarena."

"Kopi beans," she corrected, tracing the tip of her tongue over the seam of his lips. "If you didn't have back problems, I would have enjoyed seeing you attempt the ride."

She'd been adamant about refusing to let him on the bull, and it was obvious that he hadn't been completely sorry to have an excuse to avoid being tossed around like a sack of potatoes, risking both injury and a serious affront to his masculine dignity.

"Speaking of blackmail …" He paused in mid-sentence to tease his way over her own lips, avoiding her attempts to hold his head still so she could really kiss him. His laughing eyes kept Brennan from getting too annoyed. It sometimes took her off guard at how happy she was to see him happy.

His movements on the dance floor continued to be smooth and sure, even as she did her best to distract him. As accustomed as she was to leading, Brennan had been content to let him guide the majority of the slow dances this evening. Only to herself, she admitted that there was something primally satisfying about the subtle possessiveness Booth's tight grip around her waist indicated. His reactions to the attentions of other prospective suitors were of an anthropologically-familiar bent: He'd decided she was his mate, and he would brook no interference with his status as the lone alpha male in her life.

For some reason, something that would have bothered her intensely in another relationship failed to raise the same red flags for Brennan this time. It might have been because she felt the same way. A thought occurred to her and she swallowed a laugh, anticipating Booth's reaction to her next words. They would serve as sufficient punishment for his refusal to kiss her properly.

"You know, Booth, your aesthetic appeal has not gone unnoticed by others tonight."

"Huh?" He lifted his head in mild confusion.

She put on her best detached scientist voice. "Ever since we entered the club, your physique has been receiving second and third glances."

As she'd known he would, Booth went into full-on macho mode. He stopped dancing completely.

"Don't say that, Bones." He glanced around nervously, trying to be discreet about it and failing miserably.

"You're very attractive," she shrugged, hiding her smile. "I don't fault them for their accurate observation of your masculinity. You are what I believe might be referred to in the vernacular as a 'catch', by members of both sexes."

"Yeah, well, I'm caught. Okay? Off-the-market. Not that I was ever _on _the market for anybody other than _women."_ He lowered his voice drastically on the last word.

Brennan decided to take pity on him. "Booth?"

"What?" he muttered, his attention fully taken over now by the imaginary eyes he was sure were tracking him.

"I'm jealous." It wasn't entirely a lie.

His eyes dropped back to her face in surprise. "You're jealous of _other guys_?" Again, there was that dramatic whisper, as he tried hard to keep other people from hearing what he was so sure would be interpreted as offensive.

"It's no more rational that I'm jealous of men looking at you than I am of women. But I am," she admitted.

"Trust me, Bones," Booth muttered, the slightest smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "There's no chance I'm gonna leave you for anybody. Especially not—you know—another _guy_."

Their tight embrace had fallen by the wayside the minute she made the teasing comment. Brennan wrapped herself back around him and urged him back into a slow sway before asking a question designed to reassure them both.

"Am I off-the-market as well, Booth?"

Possession glinted in his eyes as he drew her closer. "If you're not, I'm gonna be spending a lot of time out on a boat, searching for the squint that got away."

"What bait would you use?" She extended the absurd conversation just a little longer, enjoying, as always, how playful she could be with him and only him.

"Are you kidding?" Booth laughed. "All I'd have to do is dangle a couple of mysteriously glowing bones on a hook and you'd be in the boat beside me again."

"You are in possession of an even more potent bait," she hinted, waiting for him to ask for clarification.

"What's that?" he asked, playing along with a smile.

"If you were searching for your 'elusive squint' and removed your shirt while on the metaphorical boat. I would surface quite quickly."

The look of masculine pride on his face made the nonsensical conversation worth it, but Brennan took it one step farther, just to make sure he knew who really was the better fisherman in the partnership.

"Of course," she mused casually, resting her head on his shoulder so he wouldn't see the warning in her eyes, "If I wanted to catch _you _while on a boat, all I would have to do is remove my own shirt."

He didn't give her a chance to finish the teasing comment before his lips came down on hers fully.

"Geez, Bones. You taste like cinnamon vodka. Who the hell drinks cinnamon vodka?"

The taste didn't dissuade him from sliding his tongue deep into her mouth and kissing her like she'd been wanting him to all evening. Brennan was vaguely aware of a song playing in the background that was thoroughly unsuited to the slow dancing she was engaged in with Booth. Nevertheless, it had a lyric, "it felt good on my lips," that very much described the feeling of her partner's mouth on hers.

"You know," he murmured eventually into her lips as he slowly traced his way over her back teeth, "I have to love you a hell of a lot to have been railroaded into doing the electric slide."

Brennan snickered at the memory. "More ammunition for blackmail."

"Like I said." He continued to kiss her. "It's gotta be love."

It had to be, she agreed to herself as another slow song started up. It still amazed her that she'd ever lacked an understanding of what the term meant. No other word came close to describing how she melted completely—gave herself over in ways she'd never believed were possible—when Booth took her in his arms or called her by one of his many nicknames.

"We have to leave after this," she said regretfully. "We have somewhere we need to be at 4:30 and it's already 3:45."

"I gotta tell you, Bones, you got this date just right," he smiled, pulling back to look at her. "Life's pretty sweet right about now, dancing the night away with my girl."

"I like being your girl," Brennan admitted, thrilled that he'd enjoyed her first surprise. "And because I do, Booth, I will tell you that such an admission, coming from me, is potent fodder for blackmail."

Booth shook his head seriously. "That's one I would never use against you, Bones. Ever."

"Because you're my guy?" she asked, just a little hesitantly.

The slow smile that spread across his handsome face turned her insides to pudding. "Hell, yeah, Smurfette."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

There were moments in the Booth and Brennan partnership—many more moments than they were ever aware of—when they had an audience watching their every move. Their deep commitment to one another, which had always formed the bedrock of their work relationship and was now an aggregate foundation of their romance, sometimes became so blatantly obvious that bystanders couldn't help but notice. This was such a moment.

Temporary couples around the dance floor, many of them made up of similarly wounded souls who were afraid to embark on anything other than the momentary comfort of a dance floor dalliance, watched with envy, unaware of all it had taken to get this particular couple to this particular moment in time.

If a camera had been trained on the partners, and a sentimental director had been overseeing production, a spotlight might have lit the corner where the partners were dancing. The song currently playing would be slowed down so each lyric was clearly heard.

**Let's run away,  
Where nothing stands between me and you.**

**Let's find a place, **

**somewhere a little closer to the truth.  
And call it a home,  
Where there's no right and there's no wrong,  
And we can be all alone.**

The people around them would be blocked out by a carefully focused lens that would perhaps start at their slowly moving feet, working its ways up to Booth's big hands on Brennan's slender waist, continuing upwards into the FBI Agent's face to emphasize the way he looked down at her with awe that spoke volumes about all the years he'd waited for this.

Or, maybe the cameraman would choose to linger on her the anthropologist instead, her head resting in its now customary position on her partner's broad shoulder. Booth wouldn't be able to see it, but the audience would get a close-up of Brennan's tightly closed eyes and at the contentment so rarely visible on the driven scientist's face. Appropriately, the song playing would become a male/female duet with lyrics expressing something of what might be going on inside their heads.

**And I'll take off my halo, if you take off your wings.  
You don't have to be invincible, 'cause I sure ain't no saint.  
You'll always be my angel, no matter what you do  
'Cause you take me to heaven just by being you.**

The director would order some background shots eventually, to show people watching the couple wrapped so tightly around each other. Maybe he would momentarily direct the camera to Naomi, emphasizing the muted jealousy and sadness in the bartender's gaze as she watched the couple revel in a moment she believed she would never again experience.

**Tell me a secret;  
Tell me things that no one else should know.**  
**Even in your weakness,  
Baby, drop your guard, just let it go.**

****The hypothetical director would cut the scene briefly and go cross-country, to show Angela and Hodgins ensconced in each other's arms. Their own slow dance somewhere in New York would serve to highlight the parallels of two relationships, both so long in the making, finally coming together at exactly the right moment.

Coincidence played the role of the director for the evening as Booth, Brennan, Angela and Hodgins inadvertently danced to the same song. 

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post/narrative A/N: The last scene might be a little romance-novelly. I was experimenting with format. Gotta keep things interesting both for myself and the readers. =)**

**Preview of next chapter: Brennan's mile-high surprise, which didn't make it into this chapter, the start of the last road trip, a major culinary surprise for a very happy Booth, and a lush desert oasis, among other interesting happenings.**


	71. Mile High a la Booth & Brennan, with pie

**Thanks to Eternal Destiny and Amilyn for their betas. Special thanks to Amy for the marathon timed writing session on Sunday, which yielded the majority of the chapter below. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Thanks also to those of you who left me kind feedback for last week's chapter. Squeezing in time to write is getting harder and harder, but knowing people are still enjoying the story makes the extra effort worth it.**

**Several of you asked about the name of the song at the end of Chapter 70. It was **_**Just by Being You (Halo and Wings**_**) by Steel Magnolia.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The final chorus of the song was still dying away as Booth and Brennan made their way outside, into Albuquerque's comfortably cool early morning. With the intimacy of the last slow dance still lingering between them, there wasn't much need for words. They held hands until the last possible minute, when Brennan started to pull away to unlock the car, and even then Booth held on just a moment longer, framing her against the door with his arms and leaning down for one more kiss.

They finally climbed into the car and it wasn't until Brennan had started the engine and guided the Prius onto the city's mostly deserted streets that she finally spoke.

"Would you object to being referred to as Angel?"

Booth shot her a startled glance. "Where'd that come from?"

"The last song. While I obviously do not believe in winged celestial beings, I understand the metaphor within the lyrics and find it appropriate."

"Ah, Bones." He couldn't help but be amused at her continued efforts to nickname him. "No. You can't call me that."

"Why not?" She drove over a bridge, under which Booth could make out the low waters of the Rio Grande. The Southwest must have had one hell of a drought this year.

"Because that's something I would call _you_," he explained patiently. "Girls don't call guys angels."

She squinted. "Is that because of the implication that angels are soft, feminine characters?"

"Well, yeah." Only Brennan would have to ask that question.

"The Archangel Gabriel, whom you believe in, is portrayed by artists as being very male," she argued, turning right onto a four-lane road.

"You can't call me Angel. It'd just be weird, Bones."

She looked less than pleased with that response. "What about Fish?"

"_Fish_?"

"In the club we decided we were each other's metaphorical catches."

"You can't call me fish," Booth said flatly. "Fish isn't a nickname, Bones. It's something you eat served with crackers and mayonnaise." He almost cringed imagining her walking into the Hoover Building and trying that one out in front of his buddies. Between the ever-present threat of Bryan Adams and Brennan's bizarre nicknames, it looked like Booth was going to wind up having to do some serious damage control in the form of half a dozen boxing matches. Or something.

"It's no stranger than _Bones_."

"I'm no angel. I'm just Booth, Bones. Plain old Booth."

"Open the glove compartment," Brennan interrupted, derailing their conversation. "We're getting close to the site and you need to put a blindfold on before we get there."

That was one he couldn't exactly argue with her, so he did as she asked and extracted a dark blue bandanna which he tied around his eyes obediently. He turned his head this way and that, testing out his now non-existent field of vision until Brennan's peremptory voice said,

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," Booth guessed

"You can still see. Tie the bandanna tighter," she ordered.

"I can't see!" he protested. "It was a lucky guess, Bones. Honest. I'm blind as a bat."

"That idiom seems appropriate, given how similarly to a bat's echolocation your 'gut' often seems to function."

"Huh?" Behind the blindfold, Booth rolled his eyes. "First I'm a fish, now I'm a _bat_? Geez. Make up your mind, Bones."

"Colloquially, I am referring to your intuitive 'radar,' which is, of course, merely a highly developed ability to pick up subtle kinesthetic body cues."

"What I'm pickin' up now is nerves," he answered dryly. "Your voice is all pitchy, Bones. Where are you taking me? Should I be afraid?"

She didn't answer. He felt the car turn and stop, followed by the jingle of the keys as Brennan turned off the engine. He heard her get out of the car and a moment later felt the cold wind as she opened the door on his side.

"Follow me."

She slid her fingers into his and he willingly wrapped his hand around hers and allowed her to guide him from the car and down the gravel path. In the distance, he could hear the murmur of indistinct voices and other people's footsteps.

"Wait here." Brennan dropped his hand and vanished into the darkness before Booth could complain.

He hovered uncertainly, longing to pull the blindfold away but reluctant to ruin her surprise.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, he called, "Bones? C'mon, Bones. Where are you? Play nice."

"Nice isn't a word I would use to describe this excursion."

Brennan's voice directly behind him made Booth jump in surprise.

"Jesus, Bones! Why don't you just give the blind guy a heart attack!"

He spun around, found himself disoriented by the blindfold, and crashed straight into Brennan's warm body. His irritation evaporated rather quickly as her lips settled next to his ear and her breath whispered over his skin when she spoke in such a mischievous tone that he could sense the smile in her eyes.

"Trust me, Angel."

"Bones!" It was hard to be mad when her hands were on his shoulders and he knew—he just knew—she was laughing. "I told you—"

"Wings might prove useful in a few minutes," she interrupted, stepping away and taking his hand again.

Now he was really nervous. "The gay bar wasn't enough of a surprise for you?" he complained, trailing after her in the darkness. "Can I take the blindfold off yet? Why do I need wings, Bones? Bones!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth complained all the way up to the hot air balloon basket, when she helped him climb inside blindly. He complained as Marvin, who had gladly agreed to help Brennan with this scheme in exchange for a backstage tour of the Jeffersonian's exhibits, checked the tether, silently removed the weights from the ropes and assisted Brennan with firing up the balloon. As the balloon lifted off he muttered curses and clutched Brennan's arm.

She enjoyed the view as the balloon rose above the fields, gently easing its way through a light fog and above a brief barrier of clouds before reaching the end of its tether.

"I'm taking this blindfold off in three seconds," Booth finally warned her in a tone that said he wasn't kidding.

"You can remove it now." Brennan reached up and undid the knot for him, maintaining her grip on his arm so he had something to hold onto as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights and he figured out where they were. She watched his expression change from annoyance to amazement as he looked around, taking in the cloud-shrouded landscape around them.

"Wow." Booth grabbed the edge of the basket and leaned over, looking every direction before looking at her. "Wow," he said again. "Bones—you really pulled this one off."

She wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but it seemed like it was a good thing from the smile spreading across his face.

"It's not quite sky-diving," she acknowledged as he turned in circles to stare out at the blue sky and the mountains surrounding them, just barely turning pink in the faint light of the rising sun.

Booth walked over to the opposite side of the basket and looked down at the thin sliver of brown-gold that the Rio Grande cut across Albuquerque. "It's not a competition, Bones. This is incredible. Parker's been bugging me to take him up in one of these things forever and I just never got around to it …"

"We do have a wager," she corrected him, feeling the slightest flutter of nervousness at wondering how he would take the next part of her surprise.

"Huh?" He was obviously distracted. "Look at that, Bones! The mountains are actually pink, like their name! Ha!" Like a little boy, he explored each corner of the basket, pausing to expect the mechanism that was keeping them aloft, then investigating the whole set-up until he located the tether. "So this is the thing keeping us from floating off into space?"

"We would technically not float off into space," she pointed out. "We would merely drift across the lower stratosphere until—"

"Uh-huh." He eyed the tether. "I hope that thing's secure." Finally, he remembered and straightened with a cocky, if confused, grin. "The wager—you mean who's better in bed? I'm still gonna win, obviously, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't like to lose." Brennan pulled the sweatshirt over her head.

Just before they'd left the club, she'd taken off her shirt and bra and her body tightened as the cold wind washed over her bare skin. It tightened further as Booth stared at her

"Holy—what—" he sputtered, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Bones, not _here_!"

"The only people who would see are other balloonists, and, as yet, there aren't any," she said calmly, as she unzipped her jeans. "You wanted to join the Mile-High Club, Booth."

"In a _plane_!" he exploded, hands waving for emphasis. "With _walls_!"

"I thought this vacation was about breaking down metaphorical walls." She shoved down her jeans and stepped out of them carefully, reaching for a rope to steady herself even as Booth, predictably, reached out to catch her in case she fell.

She took advantage of his outstretched hand and grabbed it, towing him in towards her. He didn't fight too hard, probably because he wasn't sure how his weight would affect the stability of the basket.

"Bones," he insisted, eyes darting from her naked body to the empty blue skies around then to the precariously low wicker walls, "No way in hell are you gonna get me to—"

"I am," she said succinctly, yanking his shirt from his pants. "Stop talking and start undressing, Booth. Other balloonists will be showing up shortly." She grabbed his shirt as he had done with hers in the hotel and jerked the sides apart, raining buttons around the wicker basket and over the side.

"_Bones_!" He grabbed her hands as she went for his jeans. "C'mon. This just isn't safe. Think about it for a minute."

"I don't want to think right now." She looked into his eyes, letting him see so much of what she kept hidden on a daily basis. "I think too much already, Booth."

She pulled his head down to hers and pressed her lips to his. He fought with her briefly and she smiled when his mouth finally softened under hers and his tongue slid in between her parted lips. Brennan pressed her hands to the back of his head as he guided them both to a safer position on their knees just below the wicker walls of the basket.

"You've gotta be cold," he muttered, sliding his hands up and down her back while he pressed tiny kisses along her shoulder.

"I am, a little," she admitted, keeping one hand tangled in his hair and reaching for his jeans with the other. She pushed the denim down his hard thighs without any protest from him this time. "Don't stop kissing me, Booth."

His hot mouth burned away all traces of cold as he moved across her skin. "Not in this lifetime. Or the next."

She might have argued about the lack of evidence for an afterlife, but it took too much concentration to maneuver safely in the limited space. Plus, her now fully aroused partner was extremely distracting, in the best of ways.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I win the wager," Brennan said smugly several hours later, as they lay curled up together in the hotel's large bed. How she had the energy to drive them back safely when neither had had almost any sleep in 48 hours, Booth had no idea.

"Vacation's not over yet," he reminded her sleepily, draping his legs over hers. "Go to sleep, Bones. You're driving 400 miles in a couple hours and I'd like to make it to the next destination in one piece."

He wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but he was gone within 30 seconds of his head hitting the pillow, tumbling through a fog of dreams that involved some incongruous combo of grizzlies, hot air balloons and road trips. For a guy who didn't dream much about anything besides war it was an oddly restful reverie, which probably made the jarring wake-up he received within the hour twice as bad.

"BOOTH!"

Booth jolted upright, automatically reaching for the weapon placed on the nightstand. His fingers closed over the grip and brought it to bear, scanning the room for the intruder. It took him about two seconds to figure out that a) there was nobody else in the room and b) that the attackers were strictly in Brennan's dreams. She was tangled in the sheets mummy-like, so far to the left of the bed that it was a minor miracle she wasn't on the floor. And she was still screaming, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched and laden with fear.

In other circumstances, Booth wouldn't have dared touch her. From personal experience, he knew that surfacing from a nightmare was bad enough without having another person imposing on your personal space, possibly adding to the phantom terror. But in a hotel, he didn't have much choice. He crawled out of bed and staggered over to her side, tripping on the bedclothes that had somehow wound up all over the floor, then leaned down and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders.

"Bones. Wake up." When she continued to scream, he steeled himself and shook her. "Wake up! _Temperance!"_

For another long moment, the blood-curdling yells went on and on. Then, abruptly, they stopped. Her eyes opened and she stared, unfocused, into Booth's face. He sat back, allowing her breathing room even though his instinct was to pull her into his arms and murmur reassurances.

"You're okay," he said quietly. "It was a nightmare, Bones. You're okay."

Abruptly, recognition, followed by embarrassment, flooded her gaze as she realized where they were and what had just happened.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was husky with humiliation.

"Don't be." Still unwilling to crowd her, Booth opted for squeezing her knee. "It's not your fault."

She glanced down at the sheets wrapped tightly around her. "I—in the nightmare—the sheets became ropes."

"Same dream?" he asked, praying that somehow things might have shifted at least so that he wasn't the main bad guy in her nightmares anymore.

"Yes."

Booth rocked back on his heels, trying to hide his disappointment. "I was still the Grave Digger."

"Yes." She tried to sit up and failed, as the tightly wound sheets held her tightly.

"I'll get you out of this," he muttered, focusing his attention on unraveling her from the bedclothes, rather than on staring at the fear still present in her eyes. Fear he was somehow responsible for, although he didn't know why.

"Booth."

Reluctantly, he raised his head and found remorse on her face, which was even worse than fear.

"I don't know why—I can't think of anything that would have triggered—"

"Don't think about it right now," he ordered gruffly. "Just try and relax, Bones. Once I finish here, you can take a shower to unwind and maybe catch another hour or two of sleep."

She was just starting to reply when a loud pounding came from the hotel room door.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Booth stifled a groan. Just what he needed.

"Dr. Brennan," the security guard's concerned voice called, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, struggling to free herself from the remaining sheets and only succeeding in tightening them.

"We need to come in and make sure," the guard said through the door. "Hotel guests reported screaming."

The mortification on his partner's face made Booth feel like he'd just swallowed shards of glass. Biting back a curse, he stepped away from the bed and stalked over to the door, which he opened only as far as the chain would allow.

"She's fine," he said tersely, glaring at the blue-suited guard in the hopes of intimidating him into backing down. "It was just a bad dream."

"Sorry, sir. Regulations. We need to do a sweep to ensure that she's okay."

This time Booth didn't hold back on the curse as he slammed the door in the guard's face, removed the chain and swung it back open again. The hotel employee stepped into the room with a flashlight and without so much as a weapon, making Booth wonder what, exactly, the scrawny guy would have done if he _had _been confronted by a serial killer.

From the bed where she'd finally managed to wriggle free enough to sit up, Brennan pulled the covers around her and affected her coldest squint manner as the guard approached. Booth could almost see her withdrawing into a shell to hide her humiliation, and he had to clench his fists in order not to throttle the clueless guard.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" The guard inquired solicitously, apparently unaware of the death wishes he was receiving from both Booth and Brennan.

"I'm fine," Brennan snapped. "I am now fully awake and aware that my fear was merely an irrational product of previous negative experiences that are now transmitted through dreams."

The guard raised his hands apologetically and backed away. "Sorry, ma'am. I'll let you go back to sleep."

_Like that's gonna happen now!_ Booth fumed, turning on the guard as he headed back out the door as quickly as he'd come, without even bothering to do a proper sweep of the bathroom, the closet, the balcony.

"I get that you were just doing your job," he snarled at the considerably smaller man, "But you just made it a hell of a lot harder for me to do mine." He slammed the door again, deriving considerable pleasure from the chagrined expression on the guy's face as the wood came within millimeters of his nose.

Brennan was on her feet now, her spine stiff as plywood as she straightened the sheets and the comforter. Booth sighed and approached her carefully.

"Don't worry about it, Bones. You're not the first person to wake up screaming in an unfamiliar situation."

"What other people do does not concern me," she replied curtly, yanking at the bottom sheet until the wrinkles were mostly smoothed away. "I'm not accustomed to making scenes, Booth."

He stepped in between the bed and Brennan, ignoring the warning sparks in her eyes. "The third week I was back from my first tour of duty, I holed up in a fleabag motel outside of Wisconsin where my buddies and I somehow wound up on R&R. We got so completely trashed that I don't even remember getting into bed. What I do remember is waking up beside a naked woman who was screaming as loud as I was, because I had apparently attempted to suffocate her in my sleep."

Brennan's shocked expression did little to diminish the shame that still lingered from the memory. Booth shrugged, camouflaging his pain almost by rote.

"So at least you didn't try and kill me, Bones. Cut yourself some slack."

"I'm sure the woman understood when you explained that your attack was based on post traumatic stress syndrome," she said, so naively certain that Booth laughed bitterly.

"Yeah. If I'd had time to explain maybe she would've understood, but she was too busy running for her life. Can you blame her? I could see my fingerprints on her neck." Somehow her nightmare had suddenly become a vehicle for sharing one of his darkest fears, whether or not this was the appropriate moment. "What if I do that to you one day?"

"I'll understand," Brennan said immediately. "If you attack me while asleep, I will know you're not intentionally hurting me, Booth."

"What if you don't get the chance to wake up?" he asked tiredly, sinking down onto the bed. "I mean, that was one time only, but it was enough, Bones. I didn't sleep with a woman for six months after that. Hell, I hardly slept, period. I was too scared of freaking out and hurting somebody all over again. What if I'd managed to pull off the murder?"

"You didn't, so the question is a moot point," she said firmly, sitting down beside him. "The trauma of the war is sufficiently behind you at this point that, in all likelihood, such an incident will never be repeated, Booth."

"It's never behind me," he said dully. "The nightmares never go away completely, Bones. They've just eased up a little. Especially since we started the experiment."

"You derive comfort from my physical presence at night." Brennan placed her hand over his. "I have found similar relief from my own nightmares with you beside me, Booth. It's possible that neither of us will ever be fully rid of our bad dreams, but they _are _getting better. Right?"

"Yeah. But I'm still Jack the Ripper in yours," Booth said miserably, hating himself for making her feel worse than she already did. "I don't get it, Bones. Yeah, I'm capable of physically hurting you—we both know that—but I never have. So why the hell are you having dreams about me burying you alive?"

"I don't know," Brennan said in obvious frustration. "I don't know, Booth. I'm sorry. Maybe we do need to ask Sweets for his assistance."

"Maybe." He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her temple.

"The nightmares are more sporadic now. It's possible they'll stop one day," she suggested hopefully.

"Maybe," he said without much conviction. "Either way, don't be sorry, baby. It's not your fault that your brain has decided I'm the ultimate go-to bad guy at night."

Brennan rested her head on his shoulder tiredly. "I love you, Booth."

He bent his head and kissed her. There was no smoldering passion in this kiss, just weary gratitude at her steadfast loyalty. "I love you too, Smurfette. Any chance we can catch a little more shut-eye now?"

"I'm afraid to go back to sleep," she confessed. "I would rather we move on to our next destination so that, should I have another nightmare, it will be in less public circumstances. You could sleep in the car."

In spite of how bone tired he was, Booth was immediately curious. "So the next place we're spending the night is more isolated?"

"That is one way to describe it," Brennan said cryptically, getting to her feet. "But it's several hundred miles away, and getting an early start isn't a bad idea given our increasingly limited time."

"Vacation's just flying by too damn fast," Booth agreed, flopping back onto the bed. "You'd think after it took us six years to get here that we'd have a few more days to make up for lost time."

"Given that you are insistent about this being a long-term relationship," Brennan went over to her suitcase. "It would be logical to assume that we have many more vacations in which we will be able to 'make up' lost time."

"Sometimes you get it just right, Bones." Booth closed his eyes just for a moment, amazed at how quickly he'd gone from alarmed for his partner's safety to sunk in his own miserable memories to elated at the progress they'd made as a couple. For so many years, their relationship had gone in slow motion. But lately it seemed to be a whole lot of fast forward. Right about now, even if their return to D.C. was approaching way too fast, it felt like just the right pace.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth slept for the first two hours of the trip, during which Brennan made limited progress toward their first stop for the day. She was decidedly _not _fond of traffic in the Southwest.

He yawned and sat up, stretched, and glanced around. "Where are we?"

"About an hour out Albuquerque," she answered in irritation. "There's a great deal of construction on the highway, and all traffic was diverted to one lane for 50 miles."

To her surprise, he didn't complain. Instead, he got a decidedly satisfied look on his face that prompted her to ask,

"What?"

"The longer our drive takes, the more time for my road trip game." His tone held a mischievous edge.

"You have a road trip game?" Booth's creativity apparently knew no bounds. If it extended to road trip games, the 150 miles to the next destination promised to be very pleasant indeed. "Does it require you to drive?"

He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in the seat, squirming to get comfortable. "Geez. I figured a Prius would have more leg-room," he complained. "And nope. You do all the driving in this spaceship."

"I was surprised to find that the only model available at the dealership was a 2003," Brennan acknowledged. "Subsequent Prius generations have been significantly upgraded."

"You mean seats in the newer versions actually lean back more than half an inch and have folding seats in the back?" Booth groused, jerking his head at the luggage-filled backseat.

"Yes." Brennan had no interest in discussing cars at the present moment. "What does your game entail?"

He glared at the odd dashboard to the old Prius. "Okay. All you gotta do is listen to the radio, Bones. This bucket of bolts has a radio, right?"

Brennan reached over and ran her fingers across the small touch screen, bringing up a view of six different channels. "You can select your frequencies with the dial, as in an older car, or with the arrows on the lower right of the screen."

Marginally mollified, Booth nodded and rubbed his hands together, seemingly putting aside his contentious relationship with their rental in favor of describing his game.

"Here's how the game goes: Every time the radio plays one of our musical valentines, you get a point. For every point, I'll kiss you a different place and take off one piece of clothing."

That took Brennan completely off guard.

"You'll remove my clothing?" she repeated.

He chuckled. "No, _my _clothing."

She tried to envision her conservative partner disrobing in such a public arena and failed miserably.

"That's right, Bones." He made a vaguely lascivious gesture. "I'll take it all off, all the way down to my boxers, _if _enough of our songs get played."

"That's hardly fair." She stalled, still trying to get past the image of a half-naked Booth in the car beside her. The vision was so far out of the realm of her fantasies that she was having a hard time bringing it mind. Booth didn't do strip teases in public. Getting him to do strip teases in private was hard enough! "In my game there was more of a chance that you would spot certain images than that a DJ would arbitrarily decide to play one of our songs."

"Waterfalls and parrots, Bones. Waterfalls and parrots in the middle of the damn desert. Are you wimping out on me, Wonder Woman?"

She frowned at the implication that she would capitulate so quickly. "I'm doing nothing of the sort. But what happens if we get all the way down to your boxers and we're still not at our destination?"

Booth's expression went from playful to halfway dangerous—or at least dangerous to Brennan's five senses. "Then I start undressing you, from bottom to top. Socks, pants, shirt and everything underneath."

That image was possibly even more erotic than the visual of him slowly peeling away layers of his own clothing. "I would have assumed such a game would be counterintuitive to your beliefs."

"Nice to know you don't have me figured out all the way." He leaned forward and played with the touch screen's various buttons. "So. Are you in, Bones?"

"I'm in," she said decisively. "However, I still believe that you will be more uncomfortable than I will, in the long run. I don't mind public nudity."

"When random girls start honking their horns, you might change your tune," he replied, insufferably smug in his awareness of his physical attractiveness. An attractiveness Brennan could no more deny than she could deny the thread of worry that ran through her as she realized he was right. It was a Damoclean dichotomy, wherein she had no desire to share his body with anybody else's eyes, but very much wanted to watch it slowly being revealed for her own.

"Just one thing, Bones. You have to recognize the tune and at least part of the artist's name. No help from me."

"Your musical knowledge is much greater than mine! That's not fair."

"What about your eiderdown memory or whatever?" he challenged.

"Eidetic," she corrected, smiling slightly at the notion of musically-savant geese. "It doesn't apply to music."

"Them's the breaks," he drawled, tapping the radio dial meaningfully. "Game on, Dr. Brennan?"

"Game on," she affirmed, watching his grin stretch from ear to ear as he hit _scan_.

_In a tree by the brook _

_There's a songbird who sings _

_Sometimes all of our thoughts are _

_Misgiven. _

"Zeppelin." She thumped the steering wheel. "Stairway to Heaven!"

"Very good. But it's not one of our valentines, Bones," he chided, grinning.

"We heard it in concert together," Brennan insisted. "It should count."

Booth shrugged amiably. "Okay. I can give you one freebie." He reached down and removed a tennis shoe, then leaned over and barely brushed her cheek with his lips. "There you go."

Her competitive drive kicking into full gear, Brennan hit _scan _again and waited hopefully for another familiar tune to play.

_I wanna dance with somebody. _

_I wanna feel the heat with somebody. _

_I wanna dance with somebody._

"Appropriate, but no dice either way," Booth informed her. "Whitney Houston never made it into our list of valentines. Too bad, Bones."

She started to tune to another channel and he stopped her. "Nope. Gotta listen to the whole song before you get a chance at the next one."

"You didn't say that at the outset," she complained.

"You want cheese with that whine?" He wiggled his sock-clad foot. "This is gonna be a long drive, the way thing's are going …."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan was so aggressively competitive that Booth couldn't help but laugh as they made their way through a back-to-back series of six unfamiliar tunes, by which point she was threatening to break out her iPod. Granted, the rules of the game meant he had to sit through way more twangy tunes than he would ever have listened to on his own—the scan function seemed to have a penchant for stopping on the country stations—but it was worthwhile just to watch Brennan froth at the mouth before one of their own songs finally came on.

"Easy, Bones," he teased, immediately recognizing the song. "It's just a game."

_To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah_

_Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby._

_But did you know, that when it snows,_

_My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen_.

Brennan also recognized the song, but struggled with placing it. "Our fourth date. Angela's office."

"Not good enough. What's the name, Bones? Who sings it?"

"Kiss—kiss—kiss," she fumbled.

"You're not getting one if you don't guess it," he sing-songed.

"Pinniped!" Brennan crowed triumphantly.

Booth blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

"A group of fin-footed semi-aquatic marine mammals comprising the families Odobenidae, Otariidae and Phocidae."

Before he could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she added,

"Seals. The song is by Seal. We also danced to his song at my high school reunion."

He shook his head in bemusement. "Your brain is really strange, Bones. You know that?"

"Off," she ordered, pointing at his remaining shoe.

Chuckling, he obeyed and discarded the tennis shoe, then contemplated his partner as she punched away at the touch screen, still keeping her eyes on the road. "Hold still," he said as she started to sit back. He leaned forward, lifted her ponytail and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. He felt the shiver and heard her muted sigh and sat back, pleased, as the scan settled on yet another country station.

_Your heart and soul is on the line. _

_Baby, why else would I be standin' round here so darn tired?_

"The Potomac pool!" Brennan vaguely recognized the guitar riff and pounced. "The midnight swim. You were distressed by my attire."

"Who's singing?" he prodded, just about positive she'd never get this one. Hell, he'd only blundered across it on one of the many sleepless drives he'd taken when kissing her was still forbidden. Before he automatically switched to another station, he'd decided the lyrics were appropriate and had scribbled them down so he could Google them back home. "C'mon, Bones. I'll make the next kiss super hot."

"I don't recall the artist's name, but the title is _I'm In_." Brennan beamed with self-satisfaction. "I would like my kiss now."

"Well, pull over then. I can't kiss you like I want to and expect to live to see Arizona." Booth busied himself removing a sock while Brennan moved into the emergency lane.

She turned to him expectantly, already lifting her chin. Booth hid a smile. "Close your eyes and lean the seat back as far as it'll let you."

Brennan did as he asked, only managing to move the chair a couple of inches, especially given all the luggage crammed tightly behind it. It would make maneuvering that much harder, but Booth was game. He released his seatbelt and checked their surroundings to make sure that no cops were headed their direction. Satisfied that jail for indecent exposure was at least several hundred miles away, he leaned over and slid his fingers under one of Brennan's long legs. The Southwest's hot desert winds had them both in shirt sleeves, and she was in a light, billowy black skirt patterned with purple and pink flowers that were offset by tiny green leaves.

Smirking at her surprised gasp, he peeled away the fabric, pushing it halfway up her thigh. He stopped just short of seeing London and France, mostly because if Europe came into the picture, then his plan for drawing out the teasing would go out the window as quickly as the rest of their clothing. Settling one large palm on the back of her thigh and the other in the center of her calf, he lifted her leg just enough so that he could reach the back of her knee.

"Booth—"

"Shh." He bent his head and pressed his lips into the juncture just behind the knee, opening his mouth ever so slightly so he could suck at the sensitive spot.

Brennan's barely suppressed moan made the decidedly uncomfortable position well worth it. Booth lingered longer than he'd intended, tracing circles on the tender skin and skimming his fingertips up and down Brennan's smooth thigh until his neck couldn't take the strain anymore. Regretfully, he slid her leg back to the floor, drawing the fabric back down so she was decent once more.

Then he sat back and composed himself before informing Brennan that she could open her eyes again. When she did, he chuckled at the glazed look of desire in them.

"Let's get back on the road, Bones. How does the poem go? _Promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep_?"

"I have no intention of letting you sleep tonight." Brennan's voice was admirably steady as she started the car again. Only the way she kept reaching down to smooth one hand across her skirts let Booth know how much he had affected her.

"Planning on driving me crazy, baby?" he teased.

In answer, she reached for the radio again. A blast of static momentarily severed the frequency, followed by,

_I've been loving you for such a long, long time  
Expecting nothing in return  
Just for you to have a little faith in me  
_

"Joe Cocker." Brennan's response was immediate this time. "You requested it on the radio for me the night you took me walking blindfolded through the field."

Booth took her hand from her lap and turned it over, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Good memory, Bones."

Apparently uninterested in sweet and soft at the moment, she pulled away and pointed impatiently at his remaining sock. "Remove one piece of clothing."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The metaphorical radio gods did not prove kind to Brennan in the next leg of the trip. She managed to get Booth sockless and shoeless, with three buttons undone on his shirt, and then the DJs stopped being cooperative and failed to play any songs that Brennan recognized as theirs.

Between the occasional fleeting glimpses of bare chest and the three kisses she'd earned—one on the side of her neck, one just above her cleavage, one in the small of her back, (the latter two requiring stops in the emergency lane again), Brennan was hungry for far more than dessert when the turn-off for her next surprise finally came into view. He spotted the hexagonal wooden sign in the shape of a pie at the same time that Brennan did.

He craned his neck comically as the sign receded into the distance behind them. "Pietown? Hey, Bones, did you see that? There's a place called Pietown! We gotta stop!"

"That's my intention," she assured him dryly. "Do you really think I'm oblivious enough to your likes and dislikes to pass up a chance for you to enjoy stewed fruit, Booth?"

"Seriously?" His eyes lit up. "You planned this?"

"Much as you harbored the fantasy of showing me the Inuit archaeological site, for several years I've wanted to find an excuse to bring you here ever since reading of the town."

"Pietown!" Booth chortled in delight. "Oh, man, Bones. You are one of a kind. I can't believe you actually found a place known for its pies, when you don't even like them!"

"There's only one actual pie shop in the town," she cautioned. "Originally, the town merely bore the name because an early resident became notorious for making excellent dried apple pies to sell to prospectors. After he passed away, his enterprise—and the town's original namesake—also died. Then a woman from New York moved in and decided that it was unacceptable for the town to be lacking any sort of dessert-themed restaurant, and established a café to fill the gap."

"Mmmm. _Pie_." Booth smacked his lips. "I haven't had a really decent slice since we left D.C. This is gonna be so good, Bones!"

"You'll need to put your socks and shoes back on before we go in."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered distractedly, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "I wonder what kind of pies are on their menu? Hey, Bones, you think they'll have something with chile in it, since this is the Southwest? Chile apple pie? Blechh. That'd just be wrong."

"The newspaper article mentioned that the restaurant is known for its New Mexican Apple Pie. It didn't say anything about green chile in the recipe," she said in amusement, noting the worry on his face. "I'm certain that even if one of the pies does contain chile, that you will be able to find just as many varieties that are untainted, Booth."

He sighed in relief. "Good."

"Are you very hungry?" she inquired.

"For pie? What, are you kidding?" He shoved his bare feet into his shoes and looked at her like she was delusional. "I could live on pie, Bones! Pie is the food of the gods."

"Your plural use of gods is interesting, considering that your faith is monotheistic. And I'm fairly certain that the mythical gods dined on ambrosia. Not pie. Nevertheless—" She pointed at a homemade banner draped across the dusty, tumbleweed strewn main street of the small town they were approaching. "This is an unexpected bonus to my surprise."

**PIE FESTIVAL**

**Make your pie**

**Bake your pie**

**Take your pie**

**Home**

**And everybody else's too.**

**Prizes galore!**

Ahead, they could see large crowds of people milling about a variety of booths, a tinny high school band playing somewhere in the background.

"Oh, boy!" Booth bounced with glee. "A pie eating contest! You've gotta be the world's greatest girlfriend, Bones. I'll get you a mug. Now can you just park the damn car already?"

It was clear to Brennan that if she didn't obey in short order Booth would be jumping out of the moving vehicle and going in search of his personal ambrosia, with or without her. She managed to find a spot in between a replica covered wagon and a pick-up with all manner of NRA stickers plastered across it. Booth jumped out of the car and paced impatiently as she turned the engine off and got out much more slowly.

"Hurry up, Bones!" he pleaded, grabbing her hand and towing her in the direction that his pie radar apparently was leading him.

She allowed herself to be pulled along at a brisk pace, skirting all manner of friendly vendors offering fritters, funnel cakes and other fried offerings, along with various handmade, rather kitschy crafts. Booth had no interest in the Western jewelry, competing barbeque stands, braided leather goods or custom quilts being sold. Brennan made a mental note to stop by some of the jewelry stands once Booth's appetite was sated.

"There." Her partner stabbed a finger at a long table crowded with individuals of varying ages, all wearing large plastic bibs tucked into their shirt. "That's it, Bones! C'mon!"

He dragged her over to the registration table, where an immediately smitten high school girl clad in an incongruous ivory gown and tiara cooed her way through registering Booth for the contestant and explained the simple rules.

"Keep your hands behind your back at all times. Breaking the stance is grounds for immediate disqualification. So is vomiting or any other sign of sickness."

"How many pies does he have to eat?" Brennan asked in consternation, eyeing the steaming cardboard boxes set on orange crates a few feet away.

The girl looked at her disdainfully. "As many as he can, _obviously_." She looked at Booth with doe eyes and adjusted her headpiece so that it perched higher on her hairsprayed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life coif. "The person who eats the most pies in 15 minutes is the winner. They win a Daily Pie Café cookbook, a year's worth of free slices and a pie baked by last year's champion." The girl leaned over the table, giving both Booth and Brennan an inappropriately up-close view of her plunging neckline. "I make really good pies. In case you want someone to bake one for you after you win, I mean."

"Uh-huh." In other circumstances, Brennan knew Booth might have been more compassionate toward the adoring teenager. Right now his focus was on the table of desserts, to the exclusion of all else. "C'mon, Bones. Let's go find me a spot."

Brennan had to feel sorry for the kid as they walked away with her eyes tracking Booth's every step. In spite of the girl's youth and the fact that she was no competition whatsoever for Brennan, the anthropologist nevertheless felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy that reminded her she was emotionally involved in this relationship far beyond anything she'd ever known.

Booth settled himself at the edge of the table, predictably close to the pies. He accepted the plastic bib and tucked it securely around himself, grinning up at Brennan.

"This is gonna be good, Bones. I won one of these back in high school. Two whole pies in 12 minutes," he bragged.

She almost gagged at the thought. "When did food consumption become an athletic event?"

He didn't get a chance to answer as the announcer boomed over the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, on your feet!"

Booth got up and shoved back his chair along with all the other competitors, most of whom were young men in their twenties except for two grizzled veterans who looked to have been through more than one pie war.

"Hands behind your back."

Brennan stepped away and watched as Booth locked his wrists together behind his back, eyes trained on the pies as volunteers began carrying them over and depositing them in front of the contestants in stacks of three. She wondered how many pies a person could physically consume without regurgitating.

"Better stand back farther than that, Bones," Booth warned her. "This gets messy. The food is gonna fly."

He'd barely given her the warning when the announcer bellowed,

"On your marks. Get set. And … DIG IN!"

As one, the contestants leaned forward and plunged face-forward into the pies in front of them. Booth was no exception. In the blink of an eye, he was nose deep in pastry and wine-colored fruit that could have been cranberries as much as it could have been rhubarb or raspberry. Brennan couldn't even make out much of his eyes. The only thing she could see was his jaw moving as he chomped his way through the double-crust pastry.

Brennan kept an eye on the clock. By minute 5, Booth was 2/3rds of the way through his first pie. By minute 8, he was ¼ of the way into pie number 2, while other contestants were barely finishing up their first. Showing no signs of getting full, he mowed down his second dessert all the way to the bare aluminum plan and went face-first into pie number three. Each pie was apparently a different flavor, if the red, blue and dark orange juices now staining his bib were anything to go by.

"Five minutes!"

Booth redoubled his efforts as Brennan watched his closest competitor struggle to finish pie number two. Two contestants staggered away from the table and were noisily sick into conveniently placed metal buckets. Booth was unfazed by the unappealing background noise to his impromptu meal. In spite of herself Brennan was impressed, although it was more than a little ridiculous to be impacted by how quickly a man could devour a pie.

"One minute!"

Booth slurped down the remnants of pie number three and, to Brennan's horror, was just starting in on pie four, when a loud buzzer sounded.

"Time!"

Booth staggered back from the table. Brennan watched closely to see if he would need assistance, or a visit to the metal bucket. Instead, he patted his stomach and gave her a thumbs up.

"That was some amazing pie," he sighed.

She shook her head. "Don't you feel any indigestion at all?"

"Nah." Booth wiped his face with the large napkins provided and discarded his bib as they waited for the results to be tallied. "I hadn't eaten anything all day, Bones. That had to give me some kind of an advantage. Plus, come on. It's pie! Who can beat Seeley Booth at a pie eating contest, baby? Nobody!"

Brennan rolled her eyes and laughed, relieved that she wouldn't be forced to book a hotel room to allow her partner to recover before they continued on their trip.

"This is a wholly irrational thing to say, but I believe such spontaneous displays of absurdly alpha male behavior are one of the reasons I love you," she admitted.

"In third place," the microphone boomed suddenly, "Jessica Andrews from Phoenix, Arizona. One and a half pies in 15 minutes!"

Booth watched with undisguised admiration as the woman staggered her way toward the podium and received her consolation prize of a small brass pie trophy.

"In second place, Felipe Barajas from right here in Pietown. Last year's winner—this year he ate two and a quarter pies in 15 minutes."

One of the older men stalked over to receive his plaque, clearly unhappy with his results.

"In first place, Seeley Booth from Washington, D.C. Three and a quarter pies in 15 minutes!"

Brennan cheered louder than anybody else as her partner made his way forward and accepted his basket of prizes and a kiss on the cheek from the homecoming queen, who apparently didn't care that his face was more pie than skin at present or that her pristine dress was in danger of being permanently stained.

"Would you like to thank anybody?" The announcer thrust a microphone into Booth's face. "We've never had a guy from the East Coast sweep the contest."

"Just that I'd really like a kiss from my girlfriend right about now, if she can put up with me tasting like pie." Booth winked at Brennan. "She could win a beauty contest or three, if you had them here."

Brennan found herself blushing as she made straight for Booth and kissed him hard, sinking into his pie-sweetened lips as the crowd around them howled its approval.

"We could try baking a pie together with a recipe from your new book," she offered a little shyly as they climbed down from the stage together, one of his arms wrapped around her, the other clutching his basket.

"I like the sound of that." He kissed her again, still grinning, before he sat down on a nearby orange crate and began inspecting his winnings. "You just might taste even better than pie, Smurfette. Hey, look at this." He gestured to the crowning jewel of his prize, another cardboard enclosed pie which he opened and sniffed at appreciatively. "Last year's winning apple pie recipe. And they even gave me a fork so I can dig right in."

"You're going to eat it _now_?" Brennan said, aghast. "You still want more pie after that contest?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Bones? A man can never get enough pie." He scooped up a fragrant mouthful and savored it with an exaggerated moan of delight. "This has to be the best pie I've ever eaten. Wow. _Wow._" He licked his lips happily. "Sure you don't want a piece, Bones?"

For six years he'd offered her a bite of every pie he ate, even though he knew what her answer would be, and for six years she'd turned him down. Brennan decided a change was in order.

"Booth."

"Hmm," he mumbled, swooning over his prize.

Brennan sat down on a crate beside him. "I would like to try a piece of your pie."

"Too bad. You don't know what you're miss—wait, _what_?" Booth stopped chewing and stared at her. "I must've got pie in my ears, Bones. I thought you just said you wanted to try a piece."

"That is what I said."

"Whoa, wait." Booth's eyes widened. "You're saying you actually want to try a piece of this?" He gestured at the steaming pie.

She nodded. "If you're willing to share."

"You want a piece of my overly sweetened stewed fruit," he said, deadpan. "No way."

Brennan shrugged. "If you don't want to give me a bite, I won't be offended. It's your prize."

"Are you kidding?" Booth broke into a huge grin. "Hell, yeah, I'm gonna share with you, Bones. Dig in!" He handed her the fork, still beaming.

She scooped up a small bite and brought it to her lips. The tang of the apples, combined with cinnamon and lemon, gave the dessert a tart, pleasing taste, and there was slightly more crunch to the fruit than she would have expected in a baked dish.

"This is good." She forked up another bite and chewed slowly. "This is _very _good."

"I told ya," he said smugly. "See what you've been missing all these years?"

"I'm quite certain that the diner's pie doesn't taste this good." Brennan reached for a third and fourth bite.

Booth watched, his smile transitioning slowly into an expression of mild worry as she continued to help herself. "What, are you planning on eating the whole thing?" He reached out to grab the fork away.

She evaded his hand and broke off a piece of flaky crust laden with firm fruit.

"Aw, c'mon, Bones!" Booth protested. "Leave some for me. I should've known better than to turn you onto pie. Now you're gonna go at it like the Thai, so I'll never get any!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: Yes, the place is real, and so is the pie fair and the dates on which it takes place. The only thing I've rejiggered slightly is geography, but since the town **_**is **_**in New Mexico, I figured a small adjustment so it lies on the road to Arizona is permissible. =)**

**I keep getting comments about the pacing of the story, but it's rather a moot point at this stage. The final chapters are plotted out in their entirety. They just remain to be written, and I'm not writing them any faster—or slower—than intended. I'm sorry if that displeases some people. I feel like I need to stay true to the ending I envision for the story, and I hope that the majority of you will feel satisfied when it arrives shortly. An outline of what remains: 72 wraps up Brennan's part of the vacation. 73 will have them back in DC with one final plot twist and 74 should wrap up the story, unless there's a brief epilogue.**

**Next Thursday's update may (or may not) be a day or two delayed. I'm still under the weather and absolutely exhausted. I do **_**finally **_**have a few days off at the end of next week, so if I don't manage to complete 72 by then, the update should definitely be posted over the weekend. So it will be no later than Sunday. Promise.**

**Preview of 72: That lush desert oasis I mentioned in last week's preview, which didn't make it into this chapter, will definitely make an appearance; Booth and Brennan will stay at two extremely unusual hotels and Brennan finds herself in a situation where she has to trust Booth possibly more than ever before—and he has to trust her to trust him more than he ever has, as well. So—a little angst, a lot of banter, some romance, and then Brennan has a big surprise for Booth at the end of the chapter, per Angela's suggestion. (See the end of the breakfast with Angela scene in Chapter 61 if you want a further hint.) **


	72. Lightning

**Tada! I'm a little late, but not too far off the usual posting time. :)**

**My wonderful beta Eternal Destiny has been extremely busy this week, so I'm sending her a big HUG. Another huge hug and THANK YOU goes out to Amilyn. You should thank her as well—there would absolutely, positively not have been a chapter this week if she hadn't worked with me almost every single night. Sick and overwhelmed as I've been, she's held my hand and gotten me through a very rough stretch. I'm now much better and excited to start writing the next chapter. =)**

**Thank you so much to those readers who are still hanging in there, reading and reviewing. Two more chapters to go before the story wraps up.**

**This chapter finishes up Booth and Brennan's vacation. It's even longer than the previous 13,000 word piece I posted, but I didn't want to split it into two. I figured it was time to finish up the vacation and get them back to DC.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

In the end, the only way Booth managed to get much pie was to drag Brennan in tight beside him and kiss her senseless, proving that he'd been right in that conversation so many months ago: Pie by itself was all kinds of amazing. Pie straight off of Brennan's full lips was inarguably much, much better. So much better that he didn't even feel all that bad that he was effectively losing his version of their continued road trip game, sitting as he was now sockless, shoeless, shirtless, beltless and, it seemed, on his way to being pantless before too long. Brennan, it turned out, had a cheating side he'd never known about.

He listened with growing amusement to the latest radio station she'd tuned to.

"And, in one of the more unusual letters we've received, here's a letter from Wonder Woman, asking that we play _When You Come Back Down _for Superman. Here's the song, Diana. Let's just hope Lois Lane doesn't get jealous."

Booth laughed as the soft mandolin intro began to play. Brennan was working her way through their personal musical catalogue, as well as her nicknames for him. He strongly suspected that the hapless soft rock DJ who had played _Constellations _for "Shiny Shoes from Bones" was still puzzling over the cryptic dedication.

"What'd you do, Bones? Call every radio station in town and pay them off to play our valentines?"

His partner smiled victoriously. "While you were purchasing a pie for dinner tonight, I placed a few calls. You never indicated that it was against the rules for me to request songs."

It was a loophole he hadn't thought of, which she was exploiting to the fullest extent.

A passing T-Top Camaro filled with scantily-clad girls honked loudly in approval at his bare-chested state. One of the girls held up a tissue box on which her phone number had been hastily scribbled. She made a trite "call me" sign and waved.

Booth waited, knowing Brennan would respond in kind in a moment, as she'd been doing for the last hour or so. She honked back, every bit as loud, simultaneously yanking Booth over for a kiss that screamed _MINE_. And still, she managed to keep from crashing the Prius. The woman was a multitasking goddess. Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"Uh—Bones—what're you doing?" he asked nervously as she dialed without looking.

His answer came in the form of Brennan's acerbic commentary to the person on the other end of the line.

"No, this is not the 'shirtless hottie.'"

Booth choked on a mouthful of iced tea, spraying it across his bare skin.

"This is his girlfriend," Brennan continued coolly, ignoring Booth's coughing fit. "While you are correct in your assessment of his aesthetic appeal, I recommend that you seek out a sexual partner who is closer in line with what it seems you are looking for. Booth does not do one night—"

He snatched the phone out of her hand and slunk low into the seat, covering his face as they passed the Camaro in a burst of speed.

"I was merely stating the facts," Brennan insisted, oblivious to his embarrassment. "To allow her to believe that you might actually call would have been misleading."

"If you didn't want me taking my clothes off, you could have held off from making all the song requests," he retorted. "Jesus, Bones. Jealous much?"

"Yes," she said with a satisfied smile that made him hot and cold at the same time. "I am."

His ever-simmering desire for her turned into a rapidly rolling boil. Booth sat up and pointed at the emergency lane that they'd been making frequent use of lately. "I haven't kissed you for the latest song yet. Pull over."

"Where are you going to kiss me this time?" Brennan inquired mischievously, even as she obeyed and put the car in park.

Booth reached over and released her seatbelt, then dragged her across the console toward him. She was no featherweight and it took some effort on both their parts to get her over to his side until her upper body was finally pressed flat against his chest, her legs tangling intimately with his as he shoved the seat back as far as it would go—which wasn't nearly far enough, as far as his present needs were concerned.

Brennan's laughing eyes glinted as she squirmed provocatively above him.

"Where are you going to kiss me?" she asked again, lightly running her nails up and down his biceps.

Booth's own eyes gleamed with an entirely different emotion. "Everywhere I can reach."

She shrieked with laughter as he poked her sides with both index fingers, at the same time that he brought their mouths together. Her writhing was even worth the physical pain it caused Booth, combined as it was with her increasingly hysterical laughter as he kissed her hard and tickled her mercilessly.

"Booth! Stop it!" she squealed, even though Temperance Brennan and the girly verb usually never made it within 100 miles of each other.

"What?" he teased, nipping at her full bottom lip. "Is there a problem, Bones?"

"What if—" she trailed off laughing again as he redoubled his efforts to keep her breathless.

"What if what?" He brushed his thumb across highly sensitive points on her lower back that made her jump some more. "Having trouble talking, Dr. Brennan?"

She finally reached down and grabbed both of his hands and clamped them still against her side.

Her cheeks were flushed from laughing and her hair was more than a little disheveled from all the thrashing. Booth smiled in satisfaction and attempted to escape her tight hold to tickle her further.

"Booth!" she chastised. "What if a police officer presumes our vehicle has stalled and stops to offer his assistance?"

"I'll just tell him I'm interrogating my partner." Booth pulled one hand free to graze across the lower curve of her breast.

"Interrogating?" she repeated, arching into his touch demandingly.

"Mmmm," he agreed, pulling her in for another kiss. "Thoroughly interrogating."

"You're very good at making suspects talk," Brennan murmured approvingly into his lips.

He did his level best to ensure that this particular armed and dangerous suspect was instead incapable of speech for another 15 minutes or so. It turned out he was pretty good at that too.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Halfway naked Booth was a dangerous distraction to a driver, on a par with cellphones, Brennan decided, unable to keep from repeatedly glancing over at him in spite of her vaunted powers of focus.

"How much longer till the next pit stop?" Booth caught her as she sneaked the next look and stretched in exaggerated fashion, twisting and turning so that the large muscle groups of his upper body were on unfair display. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

"We should be at our hotel for the evening in less than 30 minutes." She dragged her eyes back to the tumbleweed strewn road. It was only 5:00 pm, but heavy storm clouds were beginning to block out the sun already and strong winds were buffeting their small car and dragging unfettered vegetation from the roadside, creating a mini-obstacle course.

Booth looked out the window at the dark sky and frowned. "Is this storm gonna mess up your plans for tonight, Bones?"

"Actually, a storm is exactly what I was hoping for," she replied, catching a glimpse of their destination just up ahead.

He craned his neck as he caught site of the bizarre structure comprised of 400 stainless steel poles with solid, pointed tips, arranged in a rectangular grid. The angle of the sun threw long shadows off the poles, creating an eerie combination of darkness and light as the occasional shaft of sun glinted off metal. "What's that?"

She didn't answer as a bolt of lightning flashed in the vast sky overhead and crashed headlong into the poles. The blue-green bolt zigzagged off several poles before vanishing.

"Whoa! Did you see that, Bones? Those things are acting as lightning rods!"

Another streak of lightning emerged from the darkened sky and repeated the spectacular lightshow.

"It's an art installation known as the Lightning Field," Brennan explained, pulling the car to the side of the road and parking. "I know the curator of the exhibit, through Angela. Because of Angela's connection, we circumvented the usual protocol for visiting. Generally, tourists make advanced appointments and are driven to the cabin where we will be staying for the night, which allows for an excellent view of the lightshow, if it occurs. Frequently, there is no lightning in spite of the exhibit's overall purpose to engage electromagnetic charges."

"Wow." He watched a third slash cut through the storm clouds and fizzle out before it reached the ground.

"Do you find this interesting? I'm aware that art is not one of your hobbies, Booth. I had hoped that the unique nature of—"

Booth reached over and kissed her lightly, cutting off her words. "I find it interesting. More importantly, I find _you _interesting, Dr. Brennan. Where you go, I go." He pulled back with a grin. "Even if it means getting fried."

Relieved, she smiled. "We're in no danger. We'll drive straight to the cabin and spend the evening watching the lightning. Then tomorrow we can walk around the poles before leaving and see how badly they were charred. They need replacing every few years."

"Are gonna spend the _whole _evening watching the lightning?" Booth asked with a suggestively raised eyebrow. "I was kinda hopin' to make some lightning of our own, Bones. If you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean." Brennan leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. "I assure you, Agent Booth, my plans for the evening involve a great deal of metaphorical lightning."

"I like the way you think." Booth sighed happily and sat back. "So. Why'd we stop, Bones?"

"I would like to take a photograph of the installation to send to Angela, but my camera is in the trunk. I neglected to retrieve it after Pietown." She moved to open the door and Booth stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll get it, Bones. You stay inside."

She would have protested that it was perfectly safe for her to leave the car, but he was already out the door and headed toward the trunk. Mildly annoyed at his over-protective behavior, she resolved to scold him when he got back.

She heard him rummaging around, complaining loudly to himself about the wind and the old Prius model's lack of a standard trunk that could be reached from the car's inside. After several minutes, he finally called,

"Can you give me a clue where you put it?"

Brennan rolled her eyes and got out to go assist him. The wind was strong enough that it pushed her backwards slightly as she made her way toward the back. His head popped up as she joined him and she was surprised to read alarm in his gaze.

"Bones, did you—"

The wind blew both their doors shut with a loud THUD.

Booth's jaw tightened. "Please tell me you didn't leave the keys in the ignition, Bones."

She frowned. "I did. Why?"

"Oh, shit." Booth shoved passed her and headed straight for her door.

Brennan watched in consternation as he tried the handle and pulled futilely at it before repeating the process on the other three doors.

"Shit," he repeated, leaning against the side of the car and groaning aloud. "We're locked out, Bones."

"I don't understand." Brennan tried several doors herself, vaguely aware of the rising wind all around them. "The Prius models I've driven have an automatic safety feature where the doors don't lock when the key is in the ignition."

"I keep telling you, this is an old model." Booth kicked a tire viciously. "Some of the earlier generations had an engineering flaw where if the key was in the ignition, the doors automatically locked for some reason."

Brennan wasn't one to panic, but the loud crash of thunder, followed by a streak of lightning so close that she could smell the ozone created by the electrical discharge, vividly brought home the reality of their predicament.

She pulled out her cellphone. "I'll call Angela and get the number of the artist. He lives nearby and will be able to give us a ride to the cabin."

Booth flinched as several lightning bolts lit up the sky in quick succession. "Yeah … you might want to hurry with that, Bones."

Loud static filled her ear as she attempted to place the call and she realized belatedly that the storm was causing interference with the connection.

"No luck, huh." Booth's face was grim as he tried his own phone, with similar results.

"I'm sorry." Brennan felt an overall tightening of her body, which she generally associated with embarrassment. "I should have taken the precaution of removing the keys." She turned away, angry at herself for her lack of common sense and the dire situation it had led them into.

Booth unwisely touched her shoulder, causing her to wrench away. "It was an accident, Bones. Now we've just gotta figure out how to keep from becoming human roman candles until this storm blows over."

He was right. Self-recrimination was a futile pursuit, at best.

"Could we walk to the cabin?" Booth asked hopefully.

"It's several miles away and is directly adjacent to the installation. We'd be putting ourselves in even more danger." Brennan pursed her lips and tried to think clearly.

Logic dictated that they find a way back into the car sooner rather than later, but a quick scan of the area revealed nothing in the way of large rocks that they could use to break through a window. Realization was quick in coming about their only possible avenue of escape.

She moved purposefully toward the still open trunk and began removing their suitcases from inside.

"Bones." Booth appeared at her side. "What're you doing?"

She continued to systematically unload the contents of the trunk, knowing that to stop would be to invite all manner of terror-filled memories to interfere with her resolve. "It's the only option."

"What is?" He grabbed a suitcase she was attempting to wrestle out and stopped her, eyes wide. "What're you talking about, Bones? You're not suggesting—"

"We have to get into the trunk," Brennan said bluntly. "It's the only shelter available to us."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth stared at his partner. Her features were white, drawn and determined.

"There's got to be another way." Again, he stopped her as she tried to extract yet another bag from the trunk. She yanked away impatiently and tossed the bag onto the ground.

"We need to hurry." Her tone was flat and emotionless as she reached for the last bag. "The storm is getting worse and the installation is only drawing the lightning closer to us."

"Bones." He grabbed her hands, trying to get her to see reason. "We can't."

"We have to," she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. If he hadn't known her so well, he might have missed the fear in her eyes. "It's my own fault for leaving the keys in the ignition."

The unspoken _just like it was my fault for breaking the dish _hung in midair, every bit as pungent as the singed fragrance of the lightning storm.

The thought of subjecting her to such an up-close-and-personal encounter with her terrible childhood memories made the contents of Booth's stomach rise into his throat.

Brennan spoke quietly. Firmly. "I'll be okay, Booth." She touched his shoulder, and he realized with a shock that she was comforting him in the only way she knew how.

_She _was comforting _him_.

"Bones." He didn't know what else to say. His throat was thick with emotion, with the desire to protect her from enduring still more pain than she already had.

"I need you to do something for me, Booth."

He nodded mutely, not trusting his voice.

She waited until a roar of thunder that sounded like ocean surf finally died away before speaking again.

"I'm going to get in first. I need you to climb in behind me and promise that you will not let me out, even if I plead."

"No." Booth went cold inside, a cold that had nothing whatsoever to do with the wind cutting across his bare skin.

"You have to, Booth." Brennan held his gaze, unflinching. "I have no way of gauging my emotional reaction once I am inside."

He shook his head vehemently. "No way, Bones. You can't ask me for that."

"If we don't get into the trunk, it is very likely that one or both of us will be electrocuted."

A particularly bright flash of lightning lit up the world, deadly in its beauty.

"I need you to promise that you will not let me escape, even if I panic." Her voice was preternaturally steady. "I don't want to die, Booth and if I act irrationally in a moment when I am overwhelmed with fear, I need you to protect me as you would at any other time." She reached up and touched his cheek.

"Please, Booth. Promise." It was the pleading in her voice that broke him completely.

"Okay," he rasped hoarsely, fighting for control of his emotions. "Okay, Bones. I promise."

She nodded and pressed her palm flat to his cheek for a moment before turning back to the gaping maw of the trunk and inspecting the lid.

"There's a safety release here." She pointed at a small latch on the inside of the metal. "It was purposely installed in case a child accidentally got locked in. We should be able to close it around us and remain safe until the storm subsides sufficiently for us to call for help."

She braced one hand on the trunk and threw her leg over the side, then pushed herself up on her knee and crawled in the remainder of the way, without even seeming to hesitate. Booth watched with a knot in his throat as she made herself as small as possible in the far recesses of the tiny space, turning on her side so that her back was against the rear seat, her head resting awkwardly on one fabric-covered wheel well, her knees bent so that her feet fit behind the opposite wheel well.

"Come on, Booth." Brennan held out a hand, oblivious to the effect that her courage was having on him.

He hunched his shoulders and ducked inside, scrunching up so that his butt landed in the small indentation of the cargo hold. His feet tangled with Brennan's and his head rested awkwardly at an angle just above hers where if he tried to turn to look at her, he would bump his head on the wheel well. They were crammed together so tightly that any movement was restricted to their arms and heads.

Booth continued to hold the trunk open with one hand. "You sure about this, Bones?" His voice was nowhere as steady as hers had been.

In response, she grabbed his free hand and wrapped it around her waist. Booth closed his eyes and yanked the lid shut. The darkness that descended around them was suffocating in its warm intimacy.

The sound of Brennan's rapid, shallow breathing was magnified in the small enclosure.

"Talk to me, Temperance," Booth ordered, needing to keep her from retreating back into that shell so far that he couldn't reach in and pull her back out again.

"You talk," she answered in an unfamiliar, faraway voice. "I need a distraction." 

"Okay." He rested his hand on her hip. "What do you wanna talk about, baby?"

"Anything." She squeezed his hand hard. "Just talk to me, Booth. Keep me from remembering."

"It's like being buried alive again," she blurted, before he could think of something to distract her with. "I never told you about what it was like being in that car, Booth."

"Uh, Bones," he said uncomfortably, "Maybe now is not the best time to be thinking about that?"

Brennan shifted restlessly against him, and Booth tried to find a way to give her a little more room, only to have her tighten her ankles around his, refusing to let him inch away. "Originally, Taffett had Hodgins and me in the trunk of the car. I'm certain of that, even though my memories aren't clear. I have a vague recollection of waking momentarily in a dark, enclosed space, in a great deal of pain, before falling unconscious again."

He'd refrained from ever asking her about too much of what went on underground, hoping she'd eventually get around to confiding in him. But he'd never expected to have her telling the story in a situation that eerily mimicked her imprisonment that day.

"When I woke up the second time, the space was considerably larger. My head ached and I was confused both from the blow I had sustained and from the unfamiliar surroundings. The radio was playing. I've never been able to figure out what the song was, but I still hear the tune in my nightmares."

"I know about that." Booth stared up at the low ceiling of the trunk, remembering. "One of my buddies got blown up while listening to an old Bob Dylan track. Our base got hit—he was in his room, just relaxing when the slug tore through a wall. The song kept playing long after he bled out. I can't listen to Dylan anymore without seeing Curt's eyes going blank."

"I wasn't thinking clearly," Brennan continued. "I tried to open the window and dirt started pouring in. I managed to close it again, which was fortunate. The mechanism might have jammed from the surrounding soil, and then there would have been no way to prevent our premature deaths."

Booth's hand tightened on her knee at the thought.

"At first, what frightened me the most wasn't even being trapped. Before I realized Hodgins was with me, I was terrified that I was alone, Booth. That bothered me even more than the awareness that I was in a makeshift grave. You were the first person I thought of. I—I wished that you were with me, just for a moment. I'm sorry. It was a wholly selfish thought."

"Hey." Booth fumbled in the darkness until he found her waist and draped his arm awkwardly across it. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad you thought of me, Bones. I wish I could've been there with you."

"No. You were right. It took every single one of you to bring us back alive. If you'd been buried with me, we might have died together. Parker would have lost a father and the Jeffersonian would have been hard-pressed to find a person to fill my position. I would have been very hard to replace, Booth."

"Impossible to replace," he corrected. "Bones, did it ever occur to you that you would have been missed for more reasons than your academic credentials?"

"While I was waiting for Hodgins to wake up from the surgery I performed on his compression fracture, I did wonder whether something besides my brain would be eulogized at my funeral," she admitted. "I was aware that Angela would miss me, of course, and that you would not want to work with another squint—"

"You wanna know what I would have said at your funeral, Bones?" Booth interrupted, aware that this morbid conversation was far from an ideal distraction from their situation.

"I would assume my father would have spoken on my behalf," she said in surprise.

"Yeah, well, I would have said something too," he informed her. "And it would've been about a whole lot more than our work together, Temperance. Didn't you know even back then that you meant more to me than a work partner?" Before she could say something to further aggravate him, he went on, "You were—are—my best friend, Bones. It's always gone a lot deeper than catching murderers between us."

"What else would you have said?"

"I'll write you another letter," Booth muttered. "Okay? I really don't wanna sit here and compose a eulogy right now. What about when you waited for Hodgins to press that send button, Bones? Did you think of me then?"

"I never stopped thinking of you," she admitted. "Irrationally, I was even somewhat disappointed that it was Hodgins entombed with me, although his scientific knowledge was much more helpful than your own set of skills would have been."

"You sayin' I wouldn't have been as useful as the Bug Guy down there?" he teased.

"You have no specialized knowledge of soil particulates, nor do you have any scientific background," she reminded him unnecessarily. "Your gut would probably not have been particularly helpful in getting us out of the car, though it was vital to finding where we were buried." Before he could complain about her backhanded compliment, Brennan asked, "Do you think the storm has abated by now?"

A booming thunderclap answered her question before he could point out that they'd probably only been in the car about 15 minutes, if that.

Brennan shivered. "What is your favorite smell?"

He slid his hand up and down the arm she had tucked in close to her side, trying to provide some kind of warmth from the metal surrounding them, even though he was well aware that the cold she was feeling was far beyond the reach of his touch. "That's kinda random, Bones."

"The smell of the trunk," she elaborated. "I need to make an association with a positive scent in order to distract myself from the memory. The carpet and the metal have a tang like I remember from my childhood. Chemical. Acrid. I can almost taste them in my mouth. "

"I get that. When you're surrounded by clouds of it, gunpowder has a kind of aftertaste that seeps into your skin and stays inside you for years afterwards. But my favorite smell … you're gonna laugh at me, Bones."

"I would like to laugh right now," Brennan said tersely. "Tell me, Booth."

"Well, you know how much I hate rain, right?" She loved to tease him about his intense dislike at occasionally getting soaked in DC's infrequent downpours.

"Yes."

He'd hoped she'd make some kind of snide remark about his vanity when it came to his tailor-made suits or his hair, but she didn't take the bait.

"I like the smell after the rain," he confessed. "Not during—after, when the grass is soaked and there's that kind of clean feeling to the world. Y'know?"

"I would like to smell that right now."

"Your turn, Bones," he urged, trying to keep her in the conversation. "I'm your favorite smell, right?"

"No," she replied, so bluntly that he chuckled. "My favorite scent is drying ink. My mother used to write with an old-fashioned quill pen, just because she enjoyed the sound of it scratching over the paper. I keep a small vial of that same ink in my drawer at work, and when I miss her I occasionally will use her old pen to write a part of a rough draft or a letter."

He remembered seeing the pen carefully tucked inside one of her drawers when he'd gone searching for a staple remover one day.

"Will you write me a letter with that ink one day, Bones?" he asked, wondering if that was getting way too personal, even for the level they'd reached.

Brennan curled her fingers around the hand he had splayed across her hip. "I will."

He shifted subtly, trying to ease the ache in his back which had started soon after he'd crammed himself in beside her.

Brennan was immediately perceptive to his discomfort. "Is your spine bothering you?"

"I've had more comfortable mattresses," Booth answered wryly, wincing as another stab of pain flashed across his compressed nerve endings. "I might need the services of my personal masseuse after we get out of here, Bones."

"If I get out for a few minutes, it will allow you to stretch slightly," she offered.

"No," he said quickly. "I'm good, Bones. You stay right where you are."

"It would afford you some relief. I would only be in danger for a few minutes, Booth, and it could mean the difference between your being able to walk later on, or being bedridden for the rest of our vacation."

"You're not going anywhere," Booth said firmly. "My back is fine, Bones. Let's change the subject, huh?"

"I would like to have some fresh air," she insisted. "I'm having difficulty breathing."

His own lungs tightened as he was forced to keep his promise to her. "Bones, listen to that thunder. The storm is going full force right now. No way am I letting you climb out and risk getting hit."

Her voice had lost its steady quality. In its place was anger, fueled by panic. "I want to get out, Booth."

"You can't get out unless I do first," he said reasonably, trying to appeal to her own protective nature. "That would put me in danger too. A fried partner won't be very helpful at solving homicides."

She shoved him, causing him to yelp at the unexpected impact to his spine.

"Easy there, Bones," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm not moving, so you aren't either."

Brennan scrabbled forward, trying against all logic to crawl over him even when the space between them and the roof was a mere nose-length. "Let me out."

"No." He pressed her back down, cursing the promise he had made her. "I'm already the Grave Digger in your nightmares, so this can't make things any worse. You can catch the next flight home as soon as we get out of here, Bones. Hell, you can dump me as your partner, your boyfriend, whatever. At least you'll be alive to hate me. I'm not moving."

"Please, Booth." Her soft appeal was ten times as bad as her angry demands. "I need air."

"You have plenty of air," he replied, well aware that coddling her would only make things worse. Nevertheless, the need to be so cold and detached when all he wanted to do was open the trunk lid and let her make her escape was painful. "Snap out of it, Temperance. You're having a panic attack. Talk to me about something else."

"I can't breathe." Her voice had a dangerously brittle edge to it.

"You're talking, so you're breathing." Booth grabbed her shoulder as best he could and shook her. "You're not acting like a squint, Bones. Where's the logic in getting cooked, just so you can avoid an old memory? Talk to me about something else." He racked his brain for any inane topic he might use to head off the return of her old demons. "What about pie, Bones? Aren't you sorry for all the years you avoided stewed fruit?"

Brennan lashed out at him again, shoving him with brute strength. He would've slid backwards if there had been any room, but instead all he did was hit his head hard on an unexpectedly protruding metal edge. Booth cursed and pressed the heel of his palm to the warm, sticky upwelling just above his right cheek.

"Let me out. I need to get out, Booth. Let me out _now_!"

The fear in her voice hurt a hell of a lot more than the cut bleeding into his eye. "Any chance we can use that new recipe book to make a pie at this place you're taking me tomorrow?"

She let out an animalistic noise, something between a scream and a moan, and flailed outwards with both hands, hammering at the ceiling. He tried to catch her hands and prevent her from hurting herself, but terror had made her even stronger than she usually was and she gave him the beginnings of several good bruises before he managed to pin her down with one arm and one leg flung sideways across her.

He steeled himself, knowing he couldn't give in. Okay, pie wasn't working. "Do you remember the first song we ever danced to, Bones?"

"I don't want to be here anymore!" Brennan writhed underneath him, thrashing around so much that Booth was afraid she would hit her head worse than he had.

"I think it was Sinatra's _Old Black Magic." _Booth tried to touch her leg reassuringly and had his hand flung violently aside._ "_I should've given that to you as our first musical valentine, huh, Bones. That would've been romantic."

"I'm sorry!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "_It was an accident!"_

His stomach turned inside out and it was a small miracle that he wasn't sick all over both of them as she retreated into the memory of her childhood self, begging for forgiveness for a crime she had never committed.

He enfolded one of her hands with his own, refusing to let go no matter how hard she pulled. "I can't let you out." Unwarranted anger speared him on its barbed wires. "I didn't want to do this, Bones, but you made me promise. We're in here now and we're staying until it's safe."

"I'm sorry! I'll pay for the dish!"

"Jesus, Bones. You're killing me." He struck his own fist against the ceiling helplessly. "You're not a kid anymore, Temperance. You're a fully grown woman and you're not being punished this time. You climbed into this trunk to save both our lives and it was one of the bravest things I've ever seen anybody do." He smoothed his hands over her legs, which had subsided from wild flailing into terror-stiffened rigor mortis. "Come back to me, baby. Come back from that old memory."

The terrified, keening sounds she made were definitely going to wind up as the soundtrack for his next nightmare, Booth thought grimly.

"I'm here," he said over and over, as she started to lash out again. "You're not alone this time, Bones. We're in this together and even if I don't have Hodgins' 17 degrees, I'll find a way to dig us out."

Finally, something he said seemed to reach far enough through the fog of memory for her to hear it.

"He only has three degrees." Her tone was slow, stilted. Fighting for control.

Booth seized on her momentary lucidity. "You sure about that, Bones? I'm pretty positive he's got at least, what, nine?"

"I dislike condescension," she reminded him wearily.

"No, really, Bones," he insisted, knowing he was pushing his luck. "The guy's almost as smart as you are."

"Hodgins is very intelligent. However, he is not as intelligent as I am. He is not a genius."

He exhaled a long, relieved breath. "Welcome back, Bones."

She was silent for a long moment after that before speaking again. "My behavior is irrational. I'm afraid."

He knew how much that admission must have cost her and hugged her hard against him, as best he could in their awkward position. Again, he searched for a topic that might safely keep her memories at bay.

"What'd you think the first day you saw me, Bones? I mean about how I looked?"

"You're fishing," she whispered.

"Did you think I was hot?" he pressed. "Or did it take you a while to decide I was pretty good lookin', Bones?"

"You know I was physically attracted to you immediately. Our bar conversation shortly afterwards would have confirmed that in your mind." She sounded a little more like Brennan this time.

"Not gonna give me any details, huh." He decided to go for broke in a bid to draw her thoughts to a safer place. "That night, Bones? When you drove away in the taxi cab and left me hanging? You remember, right?"

"Obviously."

"I went home and, uh," he flushed in the darkness, "Uh, I, uh, 'self-gratified.'"

Brennan's eruption of laughter made the admission worth it. Booth was so grateful that, in order to keep her laughing, he would gladly have filled her in on all the surreptitious shower excursions he'd had to make after they began the experiment and started sharing each other's beds.

"I'd assumed that, Booth," she said dryly. "You were quite aroused when I extracted myself from your embrace."

"You think?" Booth muttered, remembering the mess of anger, confusion and lust she'd left him with. "Yeah … I didn't get much sleep that night." Visions of tangled sheets and an auburn-haired goddess wrapped up in them, and him, had provided plenty of fodder for fantasies.

"Nor did I." He could hear the hint of a smile in her voice. "I almost called you to come over several times."

"Really?" That was new information.

"I also almost called several of what Angela referred to as my 'stand-by booty calls."

Booth grimaced.

"I still don't know why I didn't call one," Brennan said thoughtfully. "I required physical gratification and any of those men would have been willing to provide it."

He debated just for a minute how much leeway he was going to give her on the whole 'guys before him' conversation, then decided the same rules as always applied.

"If you did eventually call one, I don't wanna know," he warned, upping the ante just a little with his own innuendo, "Or I can tell you about all the times you left me hanging and I debated calling—"

"You're correct," Brennan cut in. "I don't want to know." The blatant jealousy in her voice made Booth smile in the dark.

"Hey, Bones?"

"What?" Her testy reply made him smile even wider at the return of his acerbic squint.

"This cabin we're staying at tonight—are we using sleeping bags?"

"It's furnished with a bed. Why?"

"My back will definitely be happier not having to put up with a hard floor tonight. And mattresses have definite advantages when it comes to love making." He reached up to graze his fingertips across the soft rise of her left breast. Brennan flattened her palm over his hand, spreading his fingers out across her ribcage so he could feel the accelerated beat of her heart.

He kept his hand there, resting under hers, as they quietly continued talking, until their conversation had spun its usual web of attraction over them and the storm and the trunk were both locked somewhere outside. Old memories pressed up against the window and looked in, but Brennan's attention was fully engaged elsewhere. Once confronted head-on, fear frequently has a bully's lack of courage. The scientist wasn't aware when several of those memories took the hint and receded far enough into the past that her nightmares would rarely draw strength from them again.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan pressed a cold compress to Booth's swollen right cheek. He winced and painfully inched his way sideways on the bed, to allow her more room more beside him.

She sat down, careful not to jar him as she held the washcloth in place. "How is your back?"

"Sorry, Bones. We may have to hold off on the homemade lightning until tomorrow." Pain flickered across his features as he tried to rearrange his spine into a more neutral position on his side and triggered another spasm.

Brennan frowned. "The ibuprofen should counteract the inflammation and relieve some of your discomfort shortly."

"It better." Booth's smile managed to be simultaneously rakish and exhausted. "I'll go into withdrawal if I go too many days without my Bones fix."

In spite of his bravado, Brennan was concerned. The contorted position they'd spent close to three hours in would definitely have aggravated Booth's pre-existing lumbar injury, along with causing considerable strain to other stressed ligaments that provided support for his spinal column. He could be suffering from a slipped disc or sciatica, among other unpleasant prospects, none of which boded well for his physical well being or her next planned excursion.

"Earth to Bones." Booth waved a hand in her face. "Don't look so worried, Smurfette. By tomorrow, I'll be back on my feet and ready to sweep you off yours again."

"You will not be carrying me—or anything else—anywhere for the foreseeable future," she warned him.

"What about our hike?"

In the trunk, she'd given him a few hints about their next destination. Just enough to make him curious.

"If you are physically able to complete the hike tomorrow, I will carry sufficient water for both of us," she replied.

"I'll be physically able," he insisted, eyes flickering to the large window that occupied the south wall of the cabin, allowing guests a close-up view of the art installation in action. "Looks like the storm is starting up again."

A neon streak of yellow collided with the center pole and slashed to the right, then to the left, creating a triangle of electromagnetic light that gleamed so brightly both of their eyes stung before it died away. Almost immediately, another bolt from the sky lit up the night, zigzagging its way around the poles in an erratic, pinball-like pattern.

Booth whistled. "Looks like Mother Nature's a little pissed off at losing two potential targets tonight." He patted the spot in front of him. "C'mere, Bones. Watch the show with me."

She got up and did as he asked, sliding onto the bed so that her back was against his chest.

He rested an arm low across her hips. "This is how I wanted to hold you in that trunk." Booth's tone betrayed some of the tension he'd been keeping from her ever since they had finally been able to make their escape.

"There was no room." Brennan placed her own arm over his, watching the lightning strikes in the distance. Droplets of the fine rain that had replaced the downpour from earlier in the evening seemed to simultaneously mute and magnify the colors, creating a liquid screen against which Booth's 'show' played.

Booth idly ran his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. "I had other ideas for distractions back there, you know."

Brennan laughed at the blatant innuendo. "There was no room," she repeated. "You distracted me very well even without the space required to maneuver for physical diversion."

"I wanted to do this." He pressed his lips to the side of her neck that he could reach without moving.

She smiled. "You always want to do that."

A series of forked lightning flashes branched off from each other before striking the ground, giving the appearance of a tree with wide-spread LCD limbs.

Booth continued to kiss her unhurriedly, the tenderness in his gentle caress beginning to arouse Brennan as much as his earlier aggression in the passenger seat of the car had.

"You know, I was afraid of thunder as a kid."

"I find that hard to envision." Brennan was unable to reconcile her swaggering Alpha Male partner with the image of a child afraid of a loud noise.

He brushed aside her hair and nuzzled the juncture of her shoulder. "One good crash would send me under the bed with the family dog."

Brennan grinned at the visual of young Booth cowering beside the shaggy Lhasa Apso he'd improbably named Hulk Hogan.

"It pissed Dad off that any of his sons would be afraid of something so stupid. When he got blind drunk and ran over the Hulk, I sometimes wonder if he didn't do it deliberately, just so I wouldn't have a buddy to hide with."

She wanted to contradict him, but his assessment of the facts wasn't improbable.

"He got it right, for a change," Booth continued. "Next time a storm hit and Hulk wasn't around, I manned up and sat at the window, listening."

"You were a child." Brennan reached up to stroke the back of his head. Booth kissed the inside of her elbow. "You shouldn't have had to 'man up' so young."

"Neither one of us should have." He unsnapped her jeans and slid the zipper down. "But … since I'm not afraid of loud noises anymore, feel free to get as loud as you want tonight."

"Your back," she protested halfheartedly.

"I won't be doing much moving," he promised, sliding his hand beneath the denim.

"We'll make love against a window one of these days," Booth murmured in the ear that he was now exploring with the tip of his tongue. "That's what you were thinking, right?"

Brennan smiled at how easily he read her mind. The contrast of the cold glass against her warm body, and Booth's large frame embracing her from behind as she watched the lightning and felt it generated in her own body, had been a staple of her fantasies the last few weeks of the experiment.

It took a concerted amount of self-control not to buck against him as he nudged aside the sheer red bikinis Brennan had chosen at the beginning of their day, with an eye toward seducing him.

Booth chuckled at her immediate reaction, his amusement vibrating through her body like the sound waves of the thunder. "You're sexy even when I can't see you the way I want."

"I want." Brennan echoed his words as his hand slid lower and she exhaled with pleasure.

He had such beautiful hands. She'd watched them often throughout the years of their partnership, and they spoke as loudly as his mouth did, manipulating their physical environment in manners both skilled and expressive. He jammed them into his pockets, sight unseen, when he was annoyed or nervous. When showing respect, he clasped them in front of him, right over left. He snapped his distal phalanges, waved, clapped, pointed, punched, tugged at his tie with them, flipped the ever present poker chip, adjusted his collar, dug his thumbs into his waistband. He rested his chin on his metacarpals when praying, played an impatient drumbeat on available surfaces with the distal and immediate phalanges when he was in a hurry.

She enjoyed the solid, capable manner in which they frequently pressed against her back, urging her to hurry or guiding her away from a situation he though she didn't need to be a part of; or gripped the safety of a gun, warning a suspect of imminent danger. As they'd progressed to hand-holding, she enjoyed looking down and seeing his long fingers interlaced with hers. The same slender fingers that were now teasing her, seemingly casually, but with the driven purpose and intent they always had in daily life.

Booth whispered words for their ears only, heating her skin from the outside in. With each stroke of his fingers, he drew the lightning into the room with them, sending it sizzling into Brennan's veins so that she arched her body, as though she'd been a victim of a strike in spite of her precautions. She wanted to close her eyes and fall into the sensation, but the Lightning Field installation held her gaze, providing a mirror-image of what seemed to be occurring in her brain. Electric pleasure short-circuited the frontal and temporal lobes that controlled speech. There was nothing coherent about her cries, and they were loud. Loud as Booth's accelerated heartbeat at her back seemed. Loud as the thunder and wind roaring past the frail structure of the cabin.

The storm cauterized the dark memories of the car trunk. In their place all became light and sound and pleasure and thundering, crashing, freedom.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Day 8 of 10**

Brennan hovered uncertainly at the edge of Hualapai Hilltop. "Are you sure you can walk? It's over eight miles."

Booth shouldered his military-grade CamelBak and adjusted the headlight on his baseball cap. "I'm good."

"You shouldn't be carrying anything." Brennan was aware she was fussing as Booth started down the steep edge, but her concern overrode her dislike of nagging. He'd tried to hide it from her, but the bumpy ride down Route 18, with all its large potholes and complete lack of paving, had clearly caused him pain.

"Bones, I'm fine," he said impatiently, hovering a few feet below the rim of the Canyon and glaring up at her with his hands on his hips. "Are you coming or what?"

Stifling a sigh, Brennan climbed down to where her partner was waiting on the crude steps that had been carved out for tourists to follow the first mile down. "I've only hiked this in the daytime," she warned him. "We received a special dispensation to hike at night, because of the work I've done with the tribe. We'll have to watch for snakes and—"

Booth turned and started down, waving his hand at her warnings. "You keep telling me I'll be surprised. I want to see what's at the bottom of this thing."

At least the steepest part of the canyon was restricted to the initial rough descent full of switchbacks, Brennan thought to herself as she followed him. Once past the steps, the canyon became a surprisingly flat, meandering walk that most reasonably fit individuals, including children, could easily navigate, though it was still not to be taken lightly at anytime of the day. Beyond the canyon's wildlife, temperatures could hit 115 in the daytime, and at night they were capable of dropping every bit as precipitously. On her last visit, when she was completing work on one of her doctoral theses, Brennan had assisted with the rescue of several careless tourists who had ventured down without enough water or sun protection. They'd gotten lost and had been lucky to survive long enough to be found and helicoptered out to a hospital.

It was an interesting change to hike beneath the light of a full moon, rather than under the tired rays of an early morning sun that would quickly climb to become a fiery sphere that forced hikers to seek shade in the overhanging rocks and sparse trees on each side of the canyon. They hiked quickly and silently, picking their way around loose shale and natural gravel patches.

"Shit," Booth muttered loudly as he stepped in a day-old pile of dung. He scraped his boots disgustedly on a nearby boulder. "You didn't tell me horses lived down here, Bones."

"Mules," she corrected, bypassing him and continuing the descent. "This is on the only place in the continental United States where mail is still delivered by mule."

"People live down here?" Booth said in surprise as he caught up with her.

"The Havasu 'Baaja Tribe. Prior to the 1800s, they roamed the plateau above, moving up and down the canyon depending on the season. In 1882, the government confined them to the bottom 518 acres of the canyon. They lost 90% of their ancestral land."

Booth was silent, and Brennan knew how torn he was between his fierce loyalty to the government that employed him and his own personal beliefs of justice for all. She chose not to pick an argument, though one certainly could have been had.

"When they were confined to the reservation, the government was unaware of the natural wonder they'd overlooked that lay within the tribe's designated boundaries. As a result, tourism became a stable form of income for the tribe," Brennan explained. "You will likely be unimpressed with Supai Village, but the people have been very resourceful in sustaining a relatively comfortable livelihood on the canyon floor for the last 100 years."

They climbed down the remainder of the mile long dirt staircase in silence and stopped at the base to catch their breath. Or, Booth did. Brennan had other ideas, given that she'd been denied her picture window fantasy.

She slid her backpack to the ground and leaned back against the sheer red rock of the canyon with a suggestive smile. Booth picked up on her mood immediately and dropped his own pack before moving over to where she was and framing her with his arms.

"Hi." He turned the baseball cap around, looking at once ridiculous and adorable with the brim pointed backwards, and grinned down at her. "Have I mentioned I like the way you think?"

She wrapped herself around him, enjoying the tightness of his embrace and the feel of his hard thighs pressed up against hers. If spiders and snakes weren't a concern, she would have been happy to tear his clothes off and indulge her fantasy right up against the canyon wall. Instead, she contented herself with a long kiss.

Booth eventually pulled away and licked his lips thoughtfully. "Is there gonna be more where that came from?"

"Definitely," Brennan promised, picking up her backpack and setting off with a playfully exaggerated sway of her hips. She could feel his eyes watching her for a long moment before his long stride brought him back in step with her.

The full moon gave the ancient rock formations all around them a decidedly softer cast than Brennan was accustomed to seeing. She'd always experienced awe when hiking the long stretch to the village—it was hard not to with the red limestone walls towering 600 feet above them and the creamy white Coconino they were walking through—but it was now tempered with an awareness of the inherent romanticism of the place. Something only Booth's presence would cause her usually very practical mind to contemplate, Brennan thought with some amusement, some annoyance, and more than a little intrigue at the different facets to her personality that were revealed when it was just the two of them. She enjoyed knowing that she was more multidimensional as a person than she'd previously thought and discovering new aspects to herself that were every bit as varied as the sedimentary layers of the cliffs around them.

In some ways, the dusty road they were traversing could be seen as a reflection of the path their relationship had taken. And if this hike was symbolic of life, well, waited awaited them at this canyon road's end might very well be described as 'heaven' by those who believed such things.

"What are you thinking, Bones?" Booth apparently had noticed the smile that she thought she'd kept well-hidden.

They clambered over a series of small rock outcroppings made of greenish Hermit Shale.

"I'm envisioning your reaction when you see the final surprise of my vacation."

"Is it better than the dig site?"

"Not better." Brennan stepped lightly, avoiding deep holes in the rock where sleeping creatures might react badly to being woken by an ill-placed foot. "It's different. The two experiences can't be compared."

"You never shared that secret you said I could blackmail you with," Booth reminded her. "Was the dig better than the whales?"

"Once again, there's no basis for comparison." She stepped back down onto the smooth stone and swathes of sand running the length of the canyon, wobbling slightly at an unexpected patch of scree.

Booth put out a hand to steady her. "That's a total cop-out, Bones. C'mon. Did I win the secret or not?"

She pondered his question.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I enjoyed both experiences a great deal. What about this: If you think this final surprise outdoes the pie festival, I'll tell you my secret."

"Ha! Nothing will outdo Pietown," Booth said, amusingly confident in his belief that nothing could ever top pie as the best thing on earth. "You're on, Bones."

They stopped to take a picture of them sitting together in an unusual indentation in the rock that looked kind of like a sandstone La-Z-Boy Recliner and extended the photo opportunity into another brief makeout session that only ended when Booth warned her that they were about to get very naked on some very hard rock that might have done serious damage to his spine.

They walked past ancient petroglyphs and walls studded with the nests of industrious cave swallows into the heart of the canyon where a tiny thread of water finally began to seep from the ground, feeding the increasingly numerous cottonwoods that grew around them. Emerald ferns began to make an appearance on the canyon walls as the stream grew wider and wildflowers emerged at their feet, alongside graceful willows and ancient box elders until the bone dry air in the canyon was replaced by outright humidity, the kind that was more commonly found in saunas.

"Whew." Booth wiped his brow and looked around in amazement as the canyon slowly transformed into a verdant oasis on the banks of the crystalline creek. "Okay, I wasn't expecting this."

"This isn't the surprise," she said with a laugh. "We're not even halfway there."

"So we can't go swimming?" Booth asked hopefully, gazing at the appealingly blue waters burbling past them.

"Not yet." Brennan urged him onward, over the bridge and past the sign that informed visitors the village was still three miles away.

Sand and dust turned to soft mud, slowing their progress considerably as they skirted deep bogs and myriad puddles of water that had overflowed the banks, providing a home for squirming tadpoles. The parents of those tadpoles hopped companionably alongside them as they walked, providing a sonorous accompaniment to the squishing noises their shoes made. Night raptors rustled in the large trees around them, occasionally startling them by swooping by to seek out prey in the tall grass.

As they neared the village, the occasional barking dog joined the chorus of birds and frogs, warning intruders away from the small, rather ramshackle houses that were spread out across the canyon floor. Booth eyed the large satellite dishes and four wheelers in people's yards with interest.

"They helicoptered them in," Brennan explained. Seeing a four-wheeler being hoisted down into the canyon beneath the belly of a chopper she was riding had been an interesting, if somewhat alarming, experience. "Most of what's down here has been flown in or brought down by mules. The rest was carried in by locals on their backs, as their ancestors would have done."

Booth nodded, impressed even though the living conditions could best be described as rustic. Aesthetic appeal was in the eye of the beholder, and six foot high sunflower groves and pomegranate trees were apparently of more importance to residents than tending their yards or the narrow streets that divided the small convenience store from the local canteen and the school from the church and plywood houses.

They walked through the quiet village, nodding at curious locals who remembered Brennan sufficiently from past visits not to be concerned at having outsiders in their midst during a season when the canyon was closed off to visitors, but showed no particular inclination to greet her. Brennan pointed at two towering stone monoliths that appeared to stand guard over the town.

"They're known as Wigleeva," Brennan told him. "Locals believe they are guardian spirits of the tribe and that if they ever fall, the village will fall with them."

Booth stared dubiously at the tall columns, made up of increasingly unstable-looking rocks that looked like they would topple over with the slightest push. "Wil-E Coyote wouldn't stand a chance against the roadrunner here."

Eventually, the muddy road wound its way back into the bowl of the canyon again, past twin creeks that ran parallel to each other, where several locals were taking advantage of the warm evening by fishing and swimming.

She waited for him to hear it, and he wasn't far behind her in picking up the roar hidden behind the tall treeline. The origin of the sound was familiar enough for anyone who had seen The Blue Lagoon—which she knew Booth had, because she'd made him watch him long ago one sleepless night when her father had first re-entered her life and she needed something to take her mind off the apparent loss of her childhood identity.

Booth turned his head to isolate the direction of the sound. "What's that?"

"Take a guess," Brennan suggested, borrowing one of his frequent lines.

"It sounds like … a waterfall." Booth frowned. "That can't be right."

"Why not?" she laughed. "Waterfalls can form anywhere. Including remote canyon oases. Like this one."

They rounded the last tree and she pointed at the enormous travertine rock curtains stained red by Supai's never-ending dust and mud, from which two twin falls cascaded downwards from 100 feet into an aquamarine pool below.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The water was the color of a crayon. Or Brennan's eyes.

"Havasupai literally translates as 'The Blue-Green Water People'," his partner offered helpfully.

Booth's gaze swiveled from the young green leaves of cottonwoods, up to the imposing red walls of the canyon and the curtain-like rock formations from which the falls cascaded, back down to the pool and over to Brennan again.

"Do you like it?" she asked with that slight hint of shyness she only displayed when she really wanted him to like the same thing she did.

"Like it?" Booth's jaw dropped slightly and he shook his head. "Ha! Bones, you don't just like a place like this. I—it's—wow. If I ever convince you to marry me, this is where I want to do it."

Okay, he hadn't intended to say the last bit, but it came out so fast that he didn't have a chance to think it through. He went into damage control mode immediately.

"Bones, you know I didn't—"

"You did," she corrected, dropping her pack. "It's okay, Booth. You're right. If I ever do change my mind about marriage, this would be an ideal place for a wedding. Angela would give you many Oreo points for being romantic."

"Brownie points." He tried not to let her words get to him, with all the visuals they brought to mind of a barefoot Brennan holding out her hand at the water's edge to accept his ring. His pledge. His love. "Angela would definitely give me major brownie points for that, Bones. Yeah. But right now, you're the one who's earning all kinds of Oreos."

"Does it beat Pietown?" she asked, disappearing under her light sweater as she tugged it over her head.

"Yeah." Booth chuckled. "It does, Bones. Unbelievably, this might actually be better than pie."

"So I owe you a secret." Brennan's head popped back out.

"Did you bring that sexy strapless bikini?" Booth asked hopefully as she discarded her sweater and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.

Brennan's reply was muffled. "I didn't bring any swimsuit."

Her reply reached his ears before he finished processing the half-naked Brennan that emerged from beneath the T-shirt. She grinned saucily at the look on his face, flipped her hair back from her bare shoulders and shucked her cargo pants swiftly.

"Aren't you glad the canyon is closed to visitors and I got special permission for our trip?"

He was **so **glad, he could only nod numbly. She turned away from him without giving him a chance to admire her naked body in the pale light of the moon.

"Come on, Booth. Last one in the water's a rotten egg! Let's dip skinnies!"

He wasn't sure what was more impressive—the fact that she got at least the first idiom right, or the tempting glimpse of her perfect backside as she headed for the water a few feet away.

Hastily, he shed his own clothes. She'd already waded deep into the turquoise waters by the time he got completely naked and followed her in.

"Do you like it?" she asked again, mischievously this time as she vanished beneath the waves.

He waited until she reappeared again, halfway across the pool, in the mist of the thundering falls. He wasn't as lithe as she was, but he was fast, and he caught up with her before she could slither too far away.

"I like it," Booth drawled, yanking her squirming, sexy squint body against him and laying a hard kiss on her as he boosted her legs around his hips.

He was too wrapped up in her naked body and wet, full lips to see the evil glint in her eye. Before he knew what was happening, she'd shoved him backwards, so the waterfall hit him full in the face, and escaped to a rock ledge. He came up spluttering.

Brennan successfully evaded his attempts at capture for several minutes, leading him on a playful chase all around the lagoon until she began to tire and he started closing the distance, bent on revenge for his earlier dunking.

"Booth, there's a tire swing!" She pointed at the contraption rigged in a tree overhanging the falls, in an obvious bid to keep him from tackling her. It failed miserably as he swooped in and threw her over his shoulder, swatting her on butt none-too-gently as he swam them out towards deeper water again.

Brennan shrieked with laughter, then dropped her head and bit him right above his own ass. He shouted in surprise and dropped her. She fell face forward into the water and went straight for his feet, which she pulled hard enough to send him off balance and underwater yet again.

She made his head spin, literally. Booth shook the water from his eyes and ears and grinned. He'd been chasing Brennan for long enough that he should have known better than to exert such an obvious effort at catching her. He switched tactics and did laps around the pool, lazing on his back and taking in the stars overhead and the intricate rock formations that Brennan could probably have given him an hour long lesson on.

He heard Brennan enjoying herself on the swing, but avoided the temptation to turn his gaze in her direction. Studiously, he ignored her for 15 minutes, until he heard the splashing stop. He smiled, knowing she was paddling her way over to find out what was so fascinating that it had actually succeeded in distracting him from her charms.

"Booth." Her wet head appeared, her auburn hair plastered to the sides of face. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothin'." He bided his time.

"Booth," she insisted, swimming in close to poke his side.

He waited until she was right next to him, then lunged with a smooth, sideways roll in her direction. Brennan barely had time to scream before he had her in his arms, plastered to his chest. His mouth closed over hers and she pretended to fight for a brief moment before giving in completely.

It was the dictionary definition of a perfect moment: The most beautiful woman in the world naked in his arms in a setting straight out of a movie, rubbing herself all over him, her hands pressing demandingly into his hair, insisting that he kiss her harder, deeper, longer.

"So." Booth dropped his head to kiss her glistening breasts, warming their peaks with slow circles of his tongue that caused Brennan to make those breathy little sounds that drove him halfway out of his mind due to the holy trifecta that: they were so out of character, he was causing them, and only he got to hear them. "What's your secret, Bones?"

"I made a CD of our music valentines."

"That's not very good for blackmail purposes," Booth complained. "Everybody does that, Bones."

Her head lolled against his shoulder and he smoothed the wet strands away so he could trail hot kisses up the column of her throat, across her face, and back down again.

"I turned the music up extremely loud one day and was dancing while making dinner. My neighbors called the police. They said I was causing a public disturbance with the noise."

"HA!" Booth threw his head back and laughed at the awesome image of Brennan dancing around her kitchen, only to have the cops called to her little party. "Now _that's _something I can blackmail you with, baby."

"It's embarrassing," she admitted. "I'm unaccustomed to being in trouble with the law."

"You should've called me," he reprimanded her lightly. "I'd have told them I'd take the call. Then we could've turned the music up even louder and danced naked in the hallway."

"You would not have engaged in such behavior," Brennan said decisively. "You're too—"

"Don't say it," he warned. "I'm not prudish, Bones. And, who knows. I might have. You do strange things to me."

Brennan kissed his cheek. "The same could be said for your effect on me. While I am more sexually liberated than you are, I've never dipped skinnies before."

"Skinny dipped," he correct patiently, even though she seemed to have decided her version of the idiom was better than the correct one. "You've never skinny dipped before, Bones. And, really?"

She shrugged. "No."

"We've gotta do more of it more often then," Booth grinned. "There are other places in DC, Bones. They don't look anything like this, obviously," he waved at their postcard-like surroundings, "But they're dark and remote and not many people know about them."

"We should start by returning to the original swimming hole you first took me to," Brennan said, leaning forward again to rest against him.

He enjoyed the feel of her weightless body bobbing against his in the water.

"I could put on another swimsuit exhibition for you."

"So that _was _deliberate!" Booth exclaimed, swatting her behind. "That was pure evil, Bones! I couldn't even kiss you at that point!"

"I was hoping you'd break."

The goofy grin on her face made him melt in ways a tough guy didn't like to think about too much. So he didn't think. He scooped her closer still and kissed her again, swimming them towards the sandbar by the shore where they could get much better leverage. They weren't the first to make love in this place, of course, but perhaps they _were _the first to do it with the imminent awareness that reality was about to come rushing back at them as six months of build-up were swept away with the normalcy of everyday routine. It made the moment bittersweet, but neither spoke of it as they clung to each other.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

A day and a night spent in paradise, then another day driving back to Phoenix to catch the plane home …

in the end, their return home on Friday evening was perhaps unavoidably anticlimactic. The Mile High club, which they did join in Hodgins' jet, just didn't seem all that amazing after some of the experiences they'd shared over the last two weeks, but neither felt comfortable commenting on it. The awkwardness that gradually settled over them in the plane carried over into the airport as they waited for Brennan's bags to finish coming off the conveyor belt.

When the last bag finally appeared, Booth lifted it and they both hovered by the loaded luggage cart uncomfortably. They'd driven to the airport in separate cars and reality washed back over them in cold waves as the reality of their separate lives came back into focus. They might work together and spend most of their time together but, in the end, their remained large sections of their personal realities that were still wholly separate.

"Listen, uh, Bones," Booth began uncomfortably, "Rebecca agreed to give me this weekend with Parker, to make up for the last two I missed."

"Of course," she replied quickly. "I'm glad she's making it easier for you to spend time with Parker these days. And I'll be trying to catch up on writing before starting back to work on Monday …"

They both knew she'd probably be in the lab first thing tomorrow morning, making sure that nothing had been blown up or set on fire in her absence.

He cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs into his belt. "Monday, I've got a staff meeting in Maryland."

She nodded stiffly. "I'll be attending a publicity event on Monday evening and giving a lecture at Georgetown on Tuesday."

"So, uh, see you Wednesday, maybe?" he asked, tugging on his tie.

"There will likely be casework to review together. We should meet for lunch at the diner," she suggested.

"Wednesday at noon. Okay."

They walked toward the door of the arrival's lounge, Brennan pushing her cart, Booth carrying his two bags. Exiting into DC's crisp fall weather, they paused, realizing that they were also parked in different places.

"I'm that way." Booth nodded to the left.

"I'm in the southern lot." Brennan nodded to the right.

Booth leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. "So … see ya."

"Bye." She pushed the cart away, refraining from looking at him one last time, even when she could feel him watching her and knew he was hoping for exactly that reaction.

Her drive home felt strange, without a game to be played. She turned the radio on and tried to listen to several of her pre-programmed stations, but they failed to engage her attention. She turned it off again and drove the remainder of the way in silence. She told herself that her desire for noise was only due to the fact that she'd been in the presence of a very talkative individual for the last two weeks. He _didn't _appreciate silence, and conversing with him was so natural that she'd almost forgotten how much she sometimes enjoyed being with her own thoughts.

Those thoughts betrayed her as she arrived in front of the apartment and stood looking up at the building, thinking of the empty rooms awaiting her. She allowed herself to momentarily wish that Angela was around, but her friend wasn't due back from New York until Sunday. Brennan continued to stand in the parking lot for another full minute before she got back into the car and headed for the Jeffersonian. There was, after all, no hurry to unpack her things.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Saturday**

Parker snored loudly in the guest bedroom. So loudly that Booth quietly closed the door to his own bedroom, which he rarely did when his son was visiting. He sat down on the edge and stared at the phone. He wanted to call her. He wanted to ask what she'd done her first full day back, and to tell her about picking Parker up from school only to discover that his son had gotten his first suspension. A classmate of his had made fun of a disabled 5th grader struggling to make it through the hallway. Parker had jumped to the girl's defense, and wound up driving home his point with his fists.

Booth wanted to ask Brennan what the right thing to do was here. His son had done the right thing, but gone about it the wrong way. The exact same way that Booth might have gone about things at his age. He hadn't known whether to scold or praise, or how exactly to balance doing both at the same time. Rebecca had been strongly in favor of grounding Parker for the next week, which had caused a loud fight between them. All in all, it had made his reunion with his son less than the happy event he had imagined, and now Parker had collapsed, exhausted and upset, long before his usual bedtime.

He picked up the phone and put it back down again, afraid to intrude on Brennan's personal space. She'd had no time to herself in weeks and he knew how important that was to her. She was probably writing in her living room, with a cup of tea within easy reach to her right, but not so close that it could spill on the keyboard. He could see her hands flying in his head, her eyes focused on the screen with a far-off look as she spun plot details on the fly, building from the outline she drafted on a yellow legal pad which she would probably have out on the desk to her left. Booth realized guiltily that he hadn't even bothered to check during vacation to see if maybe she wanted some downtime to write.

He headed into the living room and typed out a short email to her, then deleted it. He typed a text on his cellphone, but stopped short of hitting send. Frustrated, Booth wandered the quiet apartment, trying to find something to do with himself that didn't involve thinking about Brennan. Finally, he collapsed on the couch and flipped on the TV with the sound turned down low. He hadn't watched a hockey game in forever. That oughta do the trick.

As he settled in, he couldn't help wishing that Brennan was curled up beside him, asking questions every third second about the game.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Sunday**

She had writer's block. Brennan stared in frustration at the blank screen in front of her. She never had writer's block, but every time she tried to type something from her outline, it came out sounding so banal that she deleted it, rather than just continuing onward and returning later on to edit as she usually would have done.

The buzzer went off on her laundry machine and she got up. As she shifted the clothes over to the dryer, one of Booth's shirts fell out. The shirt she'd worn as a nightgown for most of the latter half of their vacation. She stuffed it into the dryer along with the other clothes, making a mental note to press it for him before their Wednesday lunch.

Back in the living room again with the blank screen still mocking her, Brennan wandered around trying to find something to do at home, but the apartment was spotless. She always liked to leave the place in order, so it felt good when she returned from a trip. She dusted a few knickknacks and neatened a pile of magazines and books, read through the small stack of mail that had arrived in her absence and tried once again to write another chapter to her novel.

Finally giving up, she grabbed her purse and headed back to the museum. There was more than enough to occupy her mind there. She didn't understand why she was at a loose end—she always had plenty to occupy her, and if work wasn't sufficient, she could always go do yoga, or the shooting range, the gym, a martial arts class, the library … there was no reason she couldn't simply slide back into her old routine. No reason at all that she should keep thinking of calling Booth, when she really had nothing of importance to say.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Monday**

Booth collapsed on his couch, sweaty from the intense workout he'd put himself through after a long first day back at work. He kicked his shoes off and slid forward on the cushions, one hand tucked behind his head, the other reaching for the remote control and the cold beer he'd just pulled from the fridge. He'd forgotten to go food shopping, so until tomorrow he was reduced to eating Ramen noodles and drinking from Brennan's weird stash of Asian beers.

There was no hockey game on tonight. Football didn't hold his attention for very long. He channel-surfed, annoyed to find that _Say Anything _was on no less than three channels. What the hell? He finally landed on _Die Hard With a Vengeance _and, given the lack of other options, tried to get into the lowbrow action flick. When that failed miserably, he decided that he hadn't worked out hard enough and could use a hard run to finish unwinding for the day.

He was reaching for his shoes when he heard the knock on his door.

"Hang on," he called, getting to his feet and clutching at his back. Whoops. Maybe a run wasn't such a good idea after all.

He unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Hi." Brennan stood, unsmiling, on his doorstep dressed in a simple, elegant black pants suit.

"Hi!" Booth belatedly tempered his enthusiasm. Something had to be wrong. "Didn't you have a publicity event this evening?"

"It's in an hour and a half." Brennan hovered awkwardly on the threshold, ignoring his attempts to usher her inside. "I was wondering whether you would like to be my date."

Before he could accept—hell, who was he kidding? He'd been tearing his hair out at the roots the whole damn day at not having heard her voice or seen her face since Friday—she continued,

"That's not the reason I came by."

Booth raised his eyebrows as she held out an envelope.

"I promised you a letter written with my mother's fountain pen and ink. Read it later."

Baffled, he took the letter and waited for her to continue. He wasn't sure whether he should be worried or not, given the determined look on Brennan's face. She'd obviously come to some kind of a decision.

"I miss you, Booth," she said simply, taking him completely off guard with the uncharacteristic admission. "While I enjoy my personal space, I find that I much prefer being given a choice about when and when not to see you, rather than enforcing this awkward separation between us based on a misguided notion that we need breathing room."

She was squinting. Ergo, she was nervous. Booth had barely begun to translate her words, when she went on,

"Do you miss me?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hands. "Jesus, Bones. I've been going nuts missing you. Waking up without you next to me—"

"Was unpleasant." She finished the sentence for him. "If we miss each other, Booth, I see no reason we should continue with the way things are, in spite of the next goal I suggested we set.

"Wait, Bones …" he frantically dragged up her comments back in Canada, thinking that he had to be remembering wrong. "Are you saying—"

Brennan looked up at him seriously. She held out her hand, palm up. In it lay a gold key. "If you're amenable to the suggestion, I would like us to move in together."

"Amenable to—" Booth spluttered and pulled her inside the apartment, closing the door behind them and pressing her up against it. "Hell, yeah, I'm 'amenable' to the idea, Bones."

"We haven't made love in either of our apartments, yet," she pointed out when he finally stopped kissing her long enough to let them both catch their breaths.

"We've got an hour and fifteen before your event. Think we can make that deadline?" Booth was already reaching for the buttons to her coat.

Finally, she smiled and slid her hand down his bare chest to the waistband of his pants. "Yes."

_Yes _was exactly what he wanted to shout as she took him by the hand and led him down the hall to his bedroom. Yes. Moving in with Temperance Brennan was a definite _yes, yes. __**Yes**__._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N:**

**Havasu Canyon does exist and I've been there. It's absolutely incredible and totally worth the long hike down and the pricey entrance fee. The great-adventures dot com description of "a paradisiacal gorge where turquoise waters cascade into travertine pools and graceful willows and lofty cottonwoods provide shade and greenery in an extraordinary setting of towering red sandstone cliffs beneath a cerulean sky" is **_**not **_**hyperbolic. It's like some kind of lost Eden, buried at the bottom of an offshoot of the Grand Canyon. However, once again, I've rejiggered geography to fit the story. The Lightning Field also exists, but it's the opposite direction from Arizona, where Havasupai is. And people are definitely NOT supposed to hike the place at night. Just an FYI for those who are curious about my research.**

**Preview of 73: House hunting in Booth and Brennan style! Big news from Angela. Brennan has to make a big decision, and it challenges her relationship with Booth, yes, but ultimately makes their love stronger. The last big plot twist will upset some readers, no doubt. Just please trust me that I'm going to end this story in Ch. 74 on a happy note, that the plot twist will definitely NOT include a break up or the introduction of any new significant others, and that all will be well in spite of momentary angst. **


	73. Chemistry

**This chapter is somewhat episodic in nature. I hope the compromise I struck with my muse, so as not to extend endlessly but to still spend adequate time on important moments, doesn't come off as disjointed. That said, I'm going to have to revise my posting schedule and extend the story by one chapter. I'm sincerely sorry if that upsets some readers who've mentioned feeling misled about the overall pacing and length. The reasons for the extension are:**

**1. 73 would have clocked in at around 15,000 words if I finished it as originally planned. That's too long even for me. Thank you so much to those of you who got through the last 14,000 word chapter and who even took the time to leave kind feedback.**

**2. More importantly, the angsty scene that I mentioned in my last A/N isn't finished yet, and I won't have time to properly write it until next week, when we have a day off school. It's critical to the end of the story and I don't want to rush it, so breaking this chapter into two pieces—this one is extremely fluffy and has zero angst—seemed to be a better alternative to simply not posting at all. I haven't missed an update yet, but next week's chapter may be delayed by a day or so, depending on whether I feel the chapter is ready to post on Thursday.**

**The ending is definitely just around the corner, even if it 76 may be the chapter that closes the door on **_**Problem Solving**_**, instead of 75 as originally planned.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Angela stood on the platform with a clipboard clutched to her chest, a huge grin on her face as she watched the scene unfolding in the lobby below. Less than ten seconds ago, her best friend had walked through the door to the Jeffersonian, accompanied by Booth. Angela had expected him to follow her up the platform, letting Brennan lead the way into her domain, as always. What she hadn't expected was for Brennan to turn around a few feet short of the steps, grab Booth by his lapels and plant a kiss on him in front of the entire world.

Granted, Angela had seen a similar scene repeated between Brennan and Sully some years back, but it had taken place closer to the doors of the museum, and was less of an outright declaration of coupledom than it was an exchange of spit. It lacked the heat that had snapped and crackled like a live wire since day one of the Booth and Brennan partnership. Furthermore, Brennan kissing her partner in such close proximity to her workspace, fully aware as she would be of all eyes on them, screamed **SYMBOLIC** in flashing neon lights to Angela.

It was obvious that Booth had picked up on the same implication. The FBI Agent looked more than a little dazed as Brennan released him and headed for the steps. Angela's grin got even bigger as Booth stared after his girlfriend with such adoration and longing that it made the artist want to squeal. Scratch that. She did squeal as Brennan arrived on the platform, just as Booth finally pulled himself together and started after her.

"_Sweetie!" _Angela tackled the anthropologist in a giant bear hug, beaming at Booth over Brennan's shoulder. He'd quickly switched back into the overtly cocky persona he affected in the laboratory, where he had to act twice as brash in order to make up for the fact that he wasn't top dog in the food chain. As he swaggered onto the platform and propped himself nonchalantly against the railing, Angela shot him a look that said _You're not fooling me_. His wry smile told her he didn't mind too much.

"A ruptured diaphragm is an unpleasant injury," Brennan commented, even as she hugged the artist back with similar enthusiasm, if not force.

"How are you?" Angela pulled back and grabbed her shoulders. "Was it amazing? Of course it was! Oh my god, look at you! You're glowing!"

Like Booth, Brennan had her own set of personalities she pulled out as needed. This time it was the clueless squint act, which Angela didn't buy for a minute.

"Booth and I didn't eat at any sushi bars during our vacation. It's unlikely that we would have become contaminated with P. phosphoreum at any point during the trip."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Nice try, sweetie."

Brennan moved past her to the nearest lab table and critically eyed the skeleton laid out on it. "As I understand it, glowing is also a euphemism for pregnancy." Her deadpan comment triggered a startled look from Booth, who had just started to relax into his classic devil-may-care stance. The poor guy suddenly looked like he'd sat down on a pinecone.

Angela snickered, anticipating the next salvo even as Brennan selected a brush from a tray of instruments and carefully swept an almost invisible particle from the ulna into a petri dish. She turned to the microscope and began to calibrate the magnification so she could better analyze her discovery.

"The glowing look you attribute to my skin must be from the sun tan I acquired during our days in the Southwest. Booth and I are planning on waiting at least six months before having children. Given our use of birth control, conception would have been improbable, though we did engage in sexual intercourse multiple times a day."

Hodgins arrived on the scene just in time to hear the last words. He grinned and slapped Booth on the back. "Welcome back, man. Sounds like a good time was had by all?"

Booth managed to look simultaneously proud and disgusted. Angela decided to altruistically step in and save him from further embarrassment, if only because she was dying to hear more details about 'multiple times a day' from Brennan.

"You and me," she informed Brennan, who looked up distractedly from the scope. "Lunchtime at twelve on the dot. And don't even think about telling me you have to catch up on work. The way you're looking at that skeleton tells me you already know everything about her mother's cousin's sister's best friend's pleural cavity birth defect or whatever."

This time Brennan did actually look so genuinely confused that Angela elaborated,

"I know you were here all weekend, Bren. The guards told me. So no weaseling out on our girl time."

"All weekend?" Hodgins got that look on his face that told Angela he was about to deliberately make Booth squirm like a maggot headed for the blender. "Dude. You let her spend all weekend at the lab after two weeks of nothin' but net? What, did you pull a groin muscle and have to take a break?"

Booth suddenly looked smug. "You have no idea, Bug Man." He flipped his poker chip, snatched it out of the air with a practiced flick of his wrist, and grinned. "_No _idea."

"Vanilla spiked with rum is excellent," Brennan said randomly, turning to face her partner with the slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

The two traded a look that made Angela's overly-developed romantic radar go off like a biohazard alarm.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"In a hot air balloon?" Angela set her Long Island Iced Tea down. "No way."

"Booth was initially reticent," Brennan acknowledged, sipping her own tea.

"You think?" The artist sat back and laughed in disbelief. "Brennan, even I've never tried that one! And I've done pretty much everything!"

Brennan had held true to her promise not to reveal too many intimate details about the trip, but she was enjoying giving Angela just enough information to allow her friend to spin her own wild imaginings.

"It was surprisingly easy to convince him." Brennan smiled at the memory. "My speculations on Booth's prudish nature proved to be unfounded."

Angela leaned forward, comically eager to hear all the salacious details. "I knew it! Once that expensive suit comes off—is he a total animal, Brennan?"

The anthropologist chewed on a bite of her Waldorf salad, debating how much was appropriate to share without violating Booth's closely guarded privacy in the matters of intercourse.

"Booth is no more animalistic than the grizzly we encountered in Canada."

She'd already told Angela about that particular adventure, and had patiently listened to a great deal of over-emoting as the artist very vocally expressed her concern and annoyance at Booth for putting her in danger.

Angela broke off a piece of her Texas toast and waved it meaningfully. "Don't even try that, Brennan. Yes or no? Is he amazing in bed?"

"He is an excellent sexual partner." That much seemed safe to share, especially given how long she had based her impressions of his sexual expertise on wholly unempirical evidence. Some amends needed to be made in order to repair any damage done to that part of his reputation. For some reason, protecting his alpha male status suddenly seemed important to Brennan.

"The best you've ever had?" Angela prodded. "He's gotta be, Bren. Being in love makes sex 50,000 times hotter."

"I didn't realize there was a scale for rating bedroom prowess." Brennan speared a crouton and frowned at its already soggy texture. The salad ingredients Booth had stocked for the Canadian part of their trip had been far better. "Yes. While many of my previous partners were more inclined to experimenting, I would agree that on your imaginary scale Booth would be number one."

Angela beamed triumphantly, like she'd just won some kind of a contest. "I knew it. I totally knew you two would burn down the house once you got started."

Brennan worked her way around the soggy croutons, searching for a firm slice of apple or grape among the wilted lettuce leaves. She'd asked that they eat somewhere other than the diner, and was now regretting her absurd sentimental desire to have her first meal back there be with Booth. "Booth was very careful to ensure that we didn't start any fires in the cabin."

"I get that you're being good about the whole oversharing thing. But can you at least answer one question?" Angela begged.

Brennan gave up on the salad and shoved it away. "What is the question?"

"Sully was Peanut … what nickname would Booth's FBI buddies give him?"

Brennan grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. "Booth is a definite Sunflower Seed."

Angela's shriek of laughter filled the restaurant, and Brennan joined in. There was no denying the scientific facts, no matter how society chose to overlook basic biology. Dopamine and norepinephrine simulated euphoria because of certain biological triggers, and, yes, love was ultimately the product of that chemical reaction. What was important was that Booth was her trigger. He was the reason for the chemical reaction that no other male had ever caused Brennan to experience. And he had been right all those years ago in the old stone house. Some things just couldn't be measured in her lab. That didn't make them any less real or significant.

She was deliberately casual about her next revelation, well aware that Angela would react with irrational exuberance no matter how she chose to share her news.

"Booth and I are moving in together."

Her friend jumped out of her seat and danced around their table, utterly immune to the stares she was getting from other customers. Brennan watched in amusement as she bounced up and down in excitement, already pulling her phone out, probably to call Hodgins.

"Six years, six months, six weeks …" Angela gloated. "_Bren_, I told you it would happen! I'm so psychic!"

Ordinarily that comment would have precipitated an argument from Brennan about the total lack of evidence for a sixth sense's existence, but Angela's next comment completely derailed her train of thought.

"This is so great, Brennan." The artist sat down, phone still pressed to her ear. "Everything's falling into place. You're moving in with Booth. And I'm pregnant!"

This time it was Brennan who jumped out of her seat and rushed around to the other side to embrace her best friend who was, for reasons unrelated to any sushi or shrimp, definitively glowing.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Even though they'd agreed to trade off spending the night at each other's places every other day until they had time to work out living arrangements, they'd barely seen each other since getting back.

While they were gone, a potentially historic discovery of what appeared to be Viking remains had been found in the murky, polluted sediment of the Potomac. Nobody knew what Vikings would be doing in DC, so Brennan was up to her ears with even more work than usual, along with the backlog of unidentified remains she always had. Booth was spending a good chunk of his days on assignments out of town, catching up on all the trainings that Cullen had decided to conduct while he was on leave, while also trying to squeeze in as much quality time as possible with Parker.

Booth held his head in his hands and scowled at the paperwork all over his desk, cursing the new electronic filing system that Cullen had put in place while he was gone which was, once again, keeping him from getting home before 10:00. He was just dialing Brennan's number at the lab to remind her to eat dinner, when she suddenly appeared in the doorway to his office, cheeks reddened from the cold and hair windblown every which way.

He broke into a surprised grin in spite of his annoyance at the new bureaucratic hoops he now had to jump through in order to keep doing the part of his job that he actually _liked_.

"Hey, Bones! What's up?" He twirled his pen, fighting the urge to say hello the way his whole body was demanding. Truncated kisses in the elevator and a couple of hurried working lunches to discuss the unsolved murder of a vaunted food taster weren't nearly enough to satisfy Booth's need for Brennan. He was suffering definite withdrawal pangs. But, with Cullen still in the building, keeping a solid oak desk between Booth and Brennan just now was probably a very good idea, given the vivid fantasies the FBI Agent was entertaining of clearing the damn paperwork off his desk and replacing it with her naked body and his.

She hurried over, a white T-shirt clutched in both her hands. "Look!"

He couldn't see what was written on the front, what with her waving the shirt so vigorously.

Brennan yanked the shirt away, not giving him a chance to take it from her hands so he could actually read it. "I understand the idiom now!"

Booth stared at her, still completely clueless. "What are you talking about, Bones?"

She sighed impatiently and spread the shirt out on his desk so he could actually see the bold lettering. The message was superimposed on a background of cartoonishly bubbling test tubes held in between two stick figures, one wearing a cheesy bowtie and sporting exaggeratedly over gelled hair, the other in a labcoat, with a Betty Boop-style hairdo and a chunky, heart-shaped necklace.

Just in case he didn't get it this time, Brennan read the words aloud for him:

"**We've got chemistry."**

She eagerly jumped in and over-explained the literal meaning of her joke, in case he somehow missed it. "Our interactions have stimulated the medial insula and anterior cingulate of the brain, as well as the amygdale, all of which trigger the release of chemicals and stimulate sexual arousal. The chemistry in our brains has led to feelings of romantic love. Get it? We've _literally _got chemistry!"

Booth's endless day popped like a soda bubble, leaving a slight tingle and a sweet aftertaste. He leaned back and laughed until his sides ached.

"Wow. Yeah, I get it." He finally wiped at his eyes and looked back and forth from his excited partner to the shirt. "Bones, where'd you get this?"

"I had it custom made," she said proudly, obviously reveling in the success of her joke. "Angela designed the background for me, but the words were my idea."

"Wow," he said again, shaking his head in amazement. "I love you. Are you working tonight?"

Brennan's smile faded slightly. "We determined conclusively today that the Viking remains were stolen from the Smithsonian's archives."

"Sorry, Bones," he said sincerely, then added his usual 'I'm not as smart as you are' humor to try and make her feel better. "I know how excited you were about the possibility that DC was once explored by guys wearing horns on their heads and giant breasted blonde-haired women."

Brennan pulled an annoyed face. "Pop culture has stereotyped all Vikings as having identical phenotypes and armor, when the truth is that their society had a variety of physical builds and weapons."

"So they weren't all called Helga and Hagar?" His comment earned him a blank look. "It's a comic strip, Bones. Hagar the Horrible. You'd think with all the newspapers you read, you'd occasionally glance at the funnies."

"Are_ you_ working tonight?" She turned the question on him, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

Booth looked down at the T-shirt and back up again.

"I'm done." He rounded the desk and grabbed her arm, ushering her out the door. "Hurry up," he said under his breath as they walked down the hallway together, "Or I'm gonna blow our cover by jumping you in the supply closet so loudly that they'll hear us all the way to the Jeffersonian."

She giggled and sped up the pace. They barely made it inside her SUV before they were on each other, lips locked, tearing at their clothes in the backseat.

"We should wait till we get to your apartment." Even as he said it, he knew there was no way they were stopping, especially as Brennan pulled her shirt over her head. He was suddenly really glad her car's windows were tinted.

"Oh, _yeah,_ baby …" he trailed off happily as she climbed on top of him. "Man, have I missed this. Promise me we won't take two weeks to get in the next round, huh."

Brennan wriggled out of her pants. "I think we should purchase a house."

Booth froze in the middle of undoing his belt buckle.

They'd barely discussed the whole moving in thing. She had made it clear for years that she thought Booth's apartment was substandard, and, while he'd been a little more tactful with his comments, she probably knew he thought her place was too museum-y to actually live in. It had been obvious from the start that there would be a disagreement about whose place was the better option. But he hadn't expected her to just take the whole apartment conversation out of the equation.

"Whoa," he stammered. "Uh. Bones, are you sure? I mean, uh, isn't that a little fast?"

"I don't want to move into your apartment, and you don't want to move into mine. We need a place that's ours." She looked down at him, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "As the alpha male, you would probably prefer that I move into your domain. Is my suggestion offensive?"

"Nah." Booth chuckled. Brennan's newfound concern for his feelings was all kinds of sweet. "I just wasn't expecting to have the house buying conversation quite yet."

Brennan reached back to unsnap her bra and shrugged it off. "If you feel we're rushing into things, we can wait."

The role-reversal wasn't lost on Booth. His dream woman wanted to buy a house with him, and he was the one asking her to slow things down? Booth cupped the nape of her neck with one hand and drew her down towards him.

"We're not rushing." He brushed his lips lightly over hers. "Six years is definitely not rushing."

Brennan braced her hands against his chest. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He groaned as she yanked his shirttails from his pants and slid her hands underneath.

"Positive?"

"Ahhh … yes … I'm very, very positive … Holy God, Bones, that's probably illegal in the parking lot of the FBI."

"Should I stop?"

"No!"

"Sure?"

"If you stop right now, I'll tell everybody you almost got arrested for playing music too louuuuch! Temperance! Put the teeth _away!"_

"I skipped dinner tonight. Indulge me."

In spite of her comment, he was the one who got 'indulged' in the back seat of the SUV. Indulged all the way out of his very very happy mind.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As long as their 'six weeks' had seemed to take, the months that followed Booth and Brennan's vacation flew by.

"Can you believe it's already almost Thanksgiving?" Angela wandered onto the platform, the very slightest hint of a belly showing beneath her blouse.

Brennan carefully examined a metatarsal from the latest murder she and Booth were working. The skeleton had been almost wholly disarticulated and found dumped on White House grounds, causing a media furor and a security uproar. Reassembling the seventeen year old female victim had taken weeks.

"I would be thankful if we could finally identify this woman, so her family can lay her to rest before the holidays."

"Working on it," Hodgins called from a few tables away, where he was sifting through the soil the bones had been found in. "She didn't start out in the Rose Garden. That much I can tell you for sure. DC isn't exactly known for red clay, and I keep finding traces of it all over the remains. If I can just figure out where the bedbugs that were feasting on the little bit of skin left on the tibia came from, that should give us some kind of hint about where she was murdered."

"Bedbugs?" Angela shuddered. "Make sure you shower in the decontamination unit before coming home tonight, Jack. I really don't want to share my bed with your little insect friends."

The card-reader went off and all three turned to find Booth charging up the platform, bundled up in a black trench coat and scarf.

"Bones! We gotta go. Right now." He clapped his hands.

Brennan frowned. "I'm in the middle of analyzing the patterns of striation on some of our victim's bones. They're erratic in nature and I've been unable to discern why seemingly random pieces would bear deep kerf marks, when the entire skeleton was pulled apart."

"That can wait." Booth grabbed her arm. "C'mon."

"This had better be an extremely important case development," she warned before allowing him to drag her towards her office.

"Oh, yeah." He snagged her coat off its hook, holding it out for her to slip on. "Very important. Hurry up, Bones."

"Let me just get my bag—"

"No bag. There aren't any more bones." Booth tried to do up her coat for her and got the buttons all wrong.

"There _are _more bones." She undid his hasty buttoning and started over again. "We're missing 6 thoracic vertebrae, the right lateral cuneiform, both capitates—"

"You can decapitate me for messing with your missing capitates later." Booth swathed her inexpertly in his own scarf and steered her out the door, ignoring her protests that she couldn't see. Her eyes were halfway covered with the woolen ends and she bumped into a lab table and almost sent its contents flying.

Booth caught the tilting table of instruments with one hand and righted it. "Why didn't you tell me you couldn't see?"

"I toldyou!"

"The bones are fine, Bones." He waved at the table. "See? And you're fine. Finer than fine. Now would you hurry up already?" He propelled her past an amused Angela and down the stairs so fast that Brennan would have done a face plant in a puddle of water somebody had tracked in, if Booth hadn't been there to catch her. Of course, he wouldn't have had to catch her if he hadn't been pushing her in the first place.

Finally more annoyed than amused, Brennan planted her feet and refused to budge a step beyond the doors of the Jeffersonian.

"Why are we in such a hurry?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "I was busy, Booth. My work is important. You can't just manhandle me out the door anytime you feel like it!"

"You're right." The deliberate puppy dog look he got on his face was aggravatingly cute. "Sorry, baby." He lowered his voice, and she knew that was just as intentional, drawing her closer to him so she could hear what he was saying. "I promise, I won't ever manhandle you again."

She shook her head at the innuendo, trying not to allow herself to be baited and failing miserably. "Being manhandled is fine," she relented. "Just not quite so abruptly."

Booth grinned and leaned in to whisper, his lips grazing her earlobe. "You like abrupt sometimes."

"Not in the workplace." Why she was playing along, she had no idea, but resisting his little boy mischief, wrapped as it was in the guise of a fully grown, perfect male specimen, was unfairly difficult.

His smile got wider. "Just in your office. And mine. And Angela's. And the supply closet."

She caved in and let him pull her close to kiss her wholly unapologetically. On the platform behind them, Brennan could see Angela dragging Hodgins over to watch them.

"We should go, Booth."

"_Now_ you wanna leave." He held her tightly, refusing to let her pull away.

"You were in a hurry. If it's not urgent, I should go back to working on our victim."

"It's urgent. So is this. Mmmm … you taste like eggnog."

"Angela brought some into the office." She swatted at his hands when they tried to cop a feel of her backside. "Booth! I mean it! Are we leaving or not?"

"We're leaving." He held up his hands in surrender. "Evil squintress."

"That's not even a word."

"It is now." He held the door open for her and waved her out into the lightly falling rain. "Button your coat, Bones. You'll catch pneumonia with everything hanging out like that."

"Nothing is 'hanging out'. And you're the one who refused to let me get properly dressed for the weather!"

Booth undid the large buttons of his coat and towed her in against him, wrapping the heavy woolen fabric around them both. She could have complained that this would only slow their gait, but having his big warm body snug against hers wasn't something she particularly felt like protesting, especially when he pressed her up against his SUV, ensured she was wrapped in his coat so she didn't feel the damp metal, and kissed her deeply in the middle of the rain he professed to hate.

He tasted of apple cider. And pie.

"Did you stop at the diner before coming to get me?"

"Cullen's wife brought in a plate of stuff for the office. She makes a mean pumpkin pie."

"We still need to bake that recipe from the book you won," Brennan reminded him as they finally separated and climbed into the vehicle.

"Soon as life slows down." He started the engine. "I'm all about the pie, Bones. I just have to find some downtime to actually enjoy eating it off your naked body."

She swatted his arm and he reached over to shove her back playfully.

"Don't forget the headlights," she said, as he started to drive off the lot.

He flipped them on and waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "All about the pie _and _the headlights, baby. Yours, especially. They get kinda showy in this cold weather."

"Booth!" Brennan whacked him upside the head as he braked at a red light.

He giggled like a teenager and Brennan shook her head. As she'd gotten more comfortable being playful around him, he had also relaxed when it came to sexual banter so long as it remained their private game.

"Come home early tonight, Booth. I'm in the mood to pop your clutch."

Booth howled and high-fived her, leaving Brennan feeling very pleased with herself for her correct use of an idiom that incorporated one of his interests.

He squeezed her knee. "You've got it under the hood, baby."

She wasn't sure what that meant, but she took a shot at responding anyway, using a musical valentine Booth had recently given her.

"Baby, you can drive my car."

"At top speed down the freeway," Booth chortled. "I like this side of you, Bones."

"I like this side of us," she replied. "And right now, I wouldn't mind having your keys in my ignition."

If he hadn't been so macho, the sound Booth made might definitely have been classified as a squeal. Whatever it actually was, it left no doubt in either of their minds that Brennan was winning this particular road trip game.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"It's a house."

Booth chuckled as he pulled into the driveway. Having gone to town on the suggestive car metaphors, to the point where he'd almost blushed at a couple of her racier attempts, Brennan's stating the obvious was endearingly in character.

"That's right, Bones." He went around to her side and held open the door, to make sure she didn't slip on the icy concrete.

"We haven't looked at this one yet." She stepped carefully from the car.

"Nope." They'd looked at more than their fair share of places, without coming to a consensus on any of them, but this was one they'd somehow missed.

Brennan accepted his arm and followed him across the maple-leaf strewn yard. "I like the wraparound porch and swing."

"I figured you would." He produced the key from his pocket as they stepped onto the porch. "This is why we had to hurry. The realtor wants this back in an hour. Let me tell you, it took some convincing to get her to let us see it without a prior appointment."

She waited as he unlocked the front door. "You can be very convincing."

If he'd been more convincing, maybe it wouldn't have taken six years to get them to the door they were now literally walking through. Booth held his tongue, and his breath, as he guided Brennan inside.

The porch had been the first thing to attract him. Old-fashioned guy that he was, he had a certain dream of raising his kids somewhere they could have their first kiss on a porch swing, while he stood inside with a gun and watched to make sure no one took advantage of his daughters.

With Brennan now a permanent fixture in his dreams of the future, he could easily see them wrapped up in each other on the swing on a cold winter day, with coffee or glasses of wine. Or making out on a lazy summer evening, with lightning bugs flashing through the screen. He imagined Brennan curling up with a journal in the swing, or maybe her laptop, with Caesar wandering around at her feet. She might even nurse one of their children on the swing and he could read them bedtime stories just as the cicadas started to sing.

The front and back yards were large and fenced in so that their kids could wrestle each other and raise hell without getting into too much trouble. A couple of big oak trees would be just right for building a treehouse or adding another swing, and Brennan could plant that organic garden she occasionally went on about—like she'd ever actually have the time. But at least the option was there.

They'd argued their way through dozens of houses, never being able to agree on the fusion of 'clean and modern' that Brennan wanted and the anti-museum that Booth did. As soon as he'd walked in and seen the kitchen in this place, he'd known this was one house where they could agree that the balance had been adequately struck.

For starters, the floors were Italian marble. They could have made the place feel cold and unfriendly, but the swirls of gold and copper—which the realtor said helped hide dirt, although that didn't matter much to Booth—warmed the atmosphere up considerably. In the same manner, the glut of cutting edge chrome appliances, half of which Booth couldn't even name, could have looked like an extension of the Jeffersonian, but were saved by the walls. Cream and muted gold, they managed to look luxurious and welcoming at the same time.

Booth hovered behind Brennan. "I can make myself a PBJ in here without feeling like I'm having lunch on some lab table, and you can throw together your Tofurkey salads and stuff and pretend you're at the Louvre."

She didn't reply, her eyes sweeping across the cabinets, copper sink—which Booth liked way better than stainless steel—and the large island in the center of the room, which would come in handy for parties and science projects. He watched as her gaze finally came to rest on his favorite part of the room, tucked under a round window.

The old-fashioned three-cornered booth, complete with supple leather seating, was saved from cliché by its matching, sustainably harvested old-growth mahogany table, which wouldn't have looked out of place in Brennan's current apartment. And yet, it still managed to somehow be an intimate little nook, not unlike their favorite lunch spot.

"Our whole relationship's kinda been shaped by the diner, Bones. It's fitting. Don't you think?"

She nodded silently and wandered into the next room, leaving Booth unsure whether her initial thoughts had been hit or miss.

The living room continued the kitchen's color scheme, blending shades of ecru and birch into the carpet and L-shaped couch, which was big enough to hold several squirming children, plus their friends, or just two squirming parents. A picture window and door with a glass transom looked out onto the backyard, all the better for watching the seasons change and keeping an eye on little ones.

He pointed to the multiple recessed shelves which offered plenty of space for displaying all the artifacts she'd collected in her travels. "I figured you can put your sacrificial altar over there," Booth quipped, referring to the 9-foot-long concrete table that dominated Brennan's loft.

"The high ceilings would provide an excellent canvas for the tails of your vintage fighter plane and sports memorabilia," she commented.

"And your African masks can go right above the fireplace." Booth pointed.

Hints of indigo, moss, limestone and sandstone came through in the carefully chosen river stones. The house had to have a fireplace. That was one thing they'd both agreed on, with memories of making love in a rustic Canadian cabin not far from their minds. Booth also couldn't help thinking of the wedding pictures that he dreamed someday would decorate the mantle, along with assorted sports trophies and baby pictures.

Brennan looked over at him and smiled. "You can finally teach me to toast marshmallows."

"Aaaaand …" He led her into a small den adjacent to the living room, which contained more shelves and sufficient space for a couch, recliner and coffee table.

"The television can go right here," Booth said happily.

"A television?" Her expression shifted from content to disdainful.

We are not even having that argument, Bones," he said firmly. "I'm done with watching movies with you on a laptop."

Brennan shrugged. "If you require a television, I won't argue the decision. Just don't expect me to join you in watching mindless, vapid programming designed to distract individuals who lack sufficient meaningful pursuits in their lives."

He ignored her and stalked over to the far wall. "My new flatscreen T.V. is gonna sit hang _here, _so I can watch all the games, and you can curl up next to me and drive me crazy with questions."

She didn't look at all convinced. Booth walked back over to her and slung his arms around her shoulders. "Give it a chance, Bones. We'll find some nerdy science or travel channel for you to get addicted to."

"I have plenty of _real _science to immerse myself in at the Jeffersonian. Why would I need to watch amateur documentaries made by individuals who are likely less than expert in their fields? And I've never understood the purpose of watching programs about traveling, rather than actually taking the trip."

"Not everybody has your money," he reminded her, guiding her back into the living room. "Like it or not, the television is coming home, baby. And so are we."

She grimaced. "I like the latter part of that sentence."

"You'll like the T.V., Bones." He squeezed her shoulders. "I won't even mind if you interrupt me while I'm watching, as long as it's not in the middle of the game."

"I presume that 'interrupt' is innuendo for 'seduce'?"

He winked. "Maybe."

"So if I'm aroused and you're watching a hockey game, I have to wait until it's over before we can make love?"

"Only if it's a really good game," Booth conceded, deciding it was time to derail this conversation. "I'll let you know, Bones. C'mon."

They explored the rest of the two-story house together. The kitchen, living room, a bathroom and two guest bedrooms were downstairs, and the partners spent a considerable amount in the guest rooms, talking about the kids that might one day fill them. The only problem with that, in Booth's eyes, was the one thing he hated about the house: the weird Abisko Washbasin in the lone downstairs bathroom, which looked more like a water slide, or, worse yet, a urinal, than an actual sink. It had no drain pipes, with the water funneling down to a metal grate in the floor.

"You mark my words," he warned Brennan as they headed upstairs with her still raving about the 'unique water saving concept' and 'design simplicity' of the damn sink, which he'd hoped to remove ASAP, "One of our kids will try to slide down it nose first and knock out his front teeth."

The second floor held another two bedrooms and a second bathroom, this one with a normal sink. Then there was the enormous master suite, with all its potential for a king size bed, and the adjacent master bathroom, with its double-showerhead, and a two person Jacuzzi as an added bonus.

Booth waited till the end to show Brennan his favorite thing. When time was just about up before they had to return the key, he guided her down the hallway to the last room on the far end.

The room was small and elipse-like in shape, framed by curved shelves that could easily hold a couple hundred books, and stained glass windows shaped like diamonds that turned the sunlight into gentle rainbows that danced across the wooden floor. A claret-colored couch was tucked underneath one shelf, with easy access to a window seat. There was space for Brennan's coffee table. And, in the center of the room, between the shelves, was an antique burr walnut desk.

The desk was oval, with a space cut out in the middle that would exactly fit Brennan's favorite chair. A series of small drawers encircled the entire table. Three larger drawers were built into the woodwork of each side. Booth pressed a hidden latch and two matching pull-out cupboards sprang out on either end, large enough for files, books or a computer.

Brennan drifted forward, her hands automatically running across the tooled, embossed leather writing surface. "This is at least a hundred years old." She opened and closed drawers and smoothed her hands again and again over the lustrous varnish.

Booth cleared his throat. "I, uh, thought it would do your mother's fountain pen and ink justice. And I can just see you sitting there, Bones, writing with rainbows in your hair."

Brennan rose slowly from where she had been examining the intricate carvings of the drawer pulls. She turned to look at him, and her eyes were misted over like they sometimes got when she wasn't going to cry, but was a little overwhelmed. Before he could ask if she was okay, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"We have a house, Booth."

He kissed the top of her head. "To go with the cat."

She pulled back, face suddenly animated with realization. "And it has a two-car garage so you can work on reviving Veronica Betsy!"

"We'll have to find a way to get her here first," Booth pointed out dryly. "She's not exactly drive worthy right now."

Not to be deterred, Brennan went on, "Once you've repaired her, we'll be much more likely to drive her than if she's in an isolation chamber across town. Then we can park on a dark street and engage in teenage pre-coital rites."

"_Pre_-coital? So you're planning on working me up and then leaving me hanging, like there wasn't enough of that before Week 6?"

"Given that we can both get quite loud, I assumed you wouldn't want to risk detection by passersby," Brennan said, face awash with false innocence.

He looked into her laughing eyes and was grateful beyond measure to be sharing this moment with her. "I love you." He meant it more today than he had the day before, or the day before that, or even this morning. In a way that he would never be able to explain to her, Temperance Brennan had become much more than half of his heart. In walking through the fire of his inner darkness with him and accepting him as scarred, but loving him anyway, she had become his very soul.

"Does the key really need to go back to the realtor immediately?" Brennan's tone was blatantly seductive, intruding on his overly sentimental musings.

They shouldn't. He knew that. And yet …

"Nah." Booth grinned and pulled her back into his arms. "We got time, Bones." All the time in the world.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Parker sprawled comfortably in the middle of his father's living room doing his homework, waiting for him to return from an errand. On the couch nearby, Brennan was typing like 90 words a minute on her laptop.

He liked the scientist. Yeah, she spoke Chinese more often than English, but she never dumbed things down for him. She treated him like an adult, unlike his father, who seemed to think he was still six. Plus, her office was _way_ cooler than the FBI Building, and her friends even let him blow things up sometimes.

"Hey, Bones?"

She looked over at him. "Yes?"

"We were learning about alpha males in science the other day. That's what you call Dad, right?"

Brennan nodded. "The alpha male is generally considered the individual in a community who bears the highest rank. Alpha animals are given preference to eat and mate first. However, in your father's case, I use the term loosely in order to comment on his tendency to be goal-driven, overly-confident and equally over-protective of people he perceives as being weaker."

"He doesn't think you're weak. He's always telling me how kickass you are. It gets annoying."

She smiled, but it wasn't one of those grown up smiles where they were secretly making fun of you. "When I refer to Booth as an alpha male, I suppose it could be construed as a term of endearment."

Parker counted on his fingers, wishing his dad would just break down and let him use a freakin' _calculator _like a normal human being. "So you call him alpha male, like, to tease him."

"We tease each other."

"Are you an alpha female?" He scribbled down an answer, realized it was wrong and erased so hard that he tore a hole in the paper, but Brennan didn't make any comment about maybe moving to a harder surface.

"My position of authority at the Jeffersonian, as well as my status in the literary and anthropological community, would support that assumption."

Parker sighed and dragged his stuff over to the coffee table. "So if you're alpha female and Dad's alpha male, does that make you an alpha couple?"

"I'd never thought of it that way," Brennan said thoughtfully, her flying fingers pausing above the keyboard. "People look up to both of us in our positions in society. It's an interesting way of describing our relationship."

"But you are a couple, right?" He propped his chin on the table and waited for her to tell him to sit up straight.

"We're dating."

"Bones," Parker finally complained. "You're supposed to tell me to stop asking so many questions and do my homework!"

She looked surprised. "If you already know you should focus on your work, then why should I remind you?"

"Because that's what grown-ups DO." He waved his hands, unaware that he looked just like his father. "Are you and Dad planning on having kids?"

"One of these days."

"You have to tell kids what to do, Bones," Parker explained. "You just have to, or we won't."

"Do your math homework, Parker." She really nailed the stern voice.

He sat up and pulled his math book closer. "Hey, Bones?"

"I think you should wait until you've finished your homework before asking me more questions."

Parker chewed the eraser of his pencil. "Are you gonna marry my dad?"

She was quiet for so long that he sneaked a look over at her to see if he'd made her mad, but she was just sitting there staring at the keyboard looking kind of confused.

"I don't believe in marriage."

He knew that already.

"But you do love my dad, right?"

"Yes." Her voice got kind of soft when she said that, so she sounded more like a girl than a scientist.

Parker looked down at his book again. "Don't couples in love get married?"

"Not necessarily. Your father and I have different beliefs about marriage, Parker. He views it as a sacred institution that brings together a man and a woman under the auspices of romantic love."

"What about you?" He didn't know why he wanted to know. He just did.

"I believe marriage is an antiquated notion predicated on the belief that women need to be protected, as they once did from marauding tribes. In today's society, women don't need such a shield anymore. The notion that two people need to be legally bound to each other, with a large wedding thrown by the bride's parents as a substitute for the former bride price, is offensive to me."

He wrote down the answer for question number three. "Maybe back then the guy shielded the girl, okay. But you'd take a bullet for my dad, right?"

"Yes. I would put myself in danger for your father, were there such a need, just as he would for me."

He was glad when she didn't hesitate with her answer. Sometimes it was nice to know his dad had somebody looking out for him. Just in case.

"You have each other's backs. "

"We're partners. It's part of our job to look out for one another."

"So you're shielding him and he's shielding you." The next two equation answers came easier, maybe because the way he was sitting help blood get to his brain better, or something. "You're basically already married."

"I think you misunderstood me, Parker." _Now _she sounded condescending, like she thought he wouldn't get what she was trying to explain. "Human beings aren't monogamous by nature and signing a piece of paper to promise that they will be is contradicting basic biology. Furthermore, I don't believe in marriage in large part because I don't see how it ultimately changes a relationship."

"I think people get married just because, Bones. They fall in love and that's what people do and if it works you get to sit in rocking chairs and do old people stuff together and if it doesn't you wind up in divorce court and kids get screwed over. But that happened even though my mom and dad aren't married. So not trying just makes it sound like you're scared and that doesn't sound like you're an alpha female to me." Satisfied with his argument, he shifted his position so he was cross-legged and went to town on his math.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The groceries were packed precariously and piled to the top by a trainee cashier, so Booth was afraid to set them on the floor for fear of having one of the soggier ends of the bag, soaked through by a smashed carton of buttermilk, finish disintegrating into nothing.

He balanced the bag on his hip and struggled to open the door with his free hand, wincing as the sharp edges of a tinfoil roasting pan dug into his side. The contents of the bag shifted and he scrambled backwards to catch them before they rolled away.

"Bones!" He kicked at the door while hopping around trying to keep his Thanksgiving menu from tumbling all over the hallway. "C'mon, BONES!"

The bottom of the bag was just beginning to go when the door swung open on Parker's face.

"Hey, buddy." Booth caught a wayward bag of marshmallows with his teeth.

Parker grabbed the bag of marshmallows and walked off, ripping into the plastic and popping several chewy white morsels into his mouth.

"Hey!" Booth staggered forward, performing a juggling act with several flying cans of cranberries. "A little help here? Anyone? Shit!" The bag gave up the ghost, sending mushrooms, pecans, yams and other ingredients ordered by Brennan across his foyer. A produce bag of fresh green beans burst open and showered him with its contents.

"Daaaad," Parker called from the living room. "You're swearing."

Booth continued to curse and hop around on one foot, rubbing the toes that had taken the partial brunt of a barrage of canned goods. He'd be lucky if all he got was a bruise out of his attempt to make this first holiday with Brennan a romantic tour de force.

"Why didn't you just ring the doorbell?" Brennan appeared and scooped up the runaway stuffing ingredients.

"Yeah. 'Cause my hands weren't full. That's why I'm wearing your organic 'baby greens!'" He made sarcastic air quotes.

Unruffled by his bad mood, Brennan continued toward the kitchen, leaving Booth to clean up the rest of the mess. He kicked a can of corn and muttered with satisfaction as it took out a can of cranberries, pinball style.

"Where is your pepper grinder?" Brennan called.

"Pepper grinder?" Booth slung a bag of potatoes over one shoulder and grabbed an armful of corn and carrots. He stuck his head in the door to the living room and scowled at his son, who was splayed on his stomach watching a Flyers game. "Parker, turn that off and come pick lettuce and tomatoes up off the floor."

"You made the mess."

"And you're the one who'll be eating it for dinner tomorrow, along with pieces of Caesar's fur and dust bunnies if you don't get your butt up and come help clean so we can get it washed off before Christmas!"

He stomped off to the kitchen without waiting to see if his instructions had been obeyed and found Brennan turning the cabinets upside down in her quest for pepper. Booth dropped his load of groceries on the table and reached on top of the fridge. "Here." He handed her a store brand black pepper shaker.

Brennan grimaced. "Don't you have anything else?"

"Let me guess. You don't buy the stuff that comes in boxes or those little pre-filled shakers."

"Fresh pepper's aroma stimulates the olfactory cortex, providing a depth of flavor to dishes." She turned back to the marinade she was concocting.

"Thank you, Chef Brennan."

Brennan poured some pepper into her mix of herbs and sniffed deeply. Apparently unhappy with the way it failed to make her eyes water, she dumped what looked like half the shaker in. "It also increases hydrochloric acid in the stomach and diminishes the amount of gas in the intestinal tract."

"Okay. First, you insult my pepper and now you're telling me I have gas." Booth folded his arms across his chest. "Next, it'll be my breath stinks, or my socks have holes and my feet smell."

She stirred in chunks of red onion. "I see no correlation between stale pepper and holes in your socks."

He was trying hard to find something in that sentence to pick an argument with, when she took the wind out of his sails with her next comment.

"While you were gone, Parker asked me about the status of our relationship."

"Yeah?" He was immediately on guard. Usually his son was a polite, pleasant kid, but lately he'd been going through some sort of phase that put Booth in mind of a baby velociraptor cutting its teeth on every available surface. "What'd he say?"

She finely diced fresh parsley and sprinkled it onto the small bed of marjoram, sage and other assorted spices she was creating. "He wanted to know whether I plan on marrying you."

Booth stifled a groan. _Great_. "Sorry, Bones. I'll talk to him. I don't know what his deal is lately."

"He wasn't rude." Brennan transferred the spices into a plastic bag and added several tablespoons of white wine, mixed with olive oil. "It's understandable that he would be curious about the new boundaries of our relationship."

"Yeah. I'll still talk to him." He snuck up behind her and gave her neck a playful love bite.

Brennan reached back with herb-scented hands to pull him in for a kiss. "The turkey is almost defrosted in the fridge. You promised you would show me how to make your mother's stuffing. However, I find that I am in the mood to make a test apple pie first, to see if the recipe turns out well for our dinner tomorrow."

"A test pie, huh?" Booth nipped at her neck again, making her squirm. "I like the sound of that. By the time it comes out, it'll be Parker's bedtime and I'll be able to serve myself a helping of apple pie a la Bones."

"Are you two kissing again?" Parker yelled disgustedly from the living room. "Can't you at least wait until I pretend to be asleep?"

"My son has a lot to learn about being a wingman." Booth gave her waist one last squeeze. "Where's the Pietown recipe book?"

Brennan pointed to the cluttered kitchen counter, where she'd neatly covered the book in a Ziploc bag in order to avoid stains. "If you prepare the apples, I'll start the dough."

"Wow. You mean this is gonna be made completely from scratch?" Booth salivated at the thought of buttery, flaky crust hot from the oven, wrapped around several pounds of Butler Orchard's legendary champagne apples.

He tore open the bag of apples and set to work peeling and coring them. Beside him, Brennan carefully read the recipe and moved around the small kitchen, retrieving ingredients. Booth was slicing an apple into thirds when he heard a _whoomph _directly behind him, followed by a muffled shriek. He turned and found Brennan standing, hands still raised above her head, wearing the vast majority of a five pound bag of flour.

Booth tried hard to look sympathetic. It wasn't easy—flour liberally dusted her hair, her face, her neck and arms and shoulders … she looked like she'd just gone face first into a snowdrift and emerged half-squint, half-human drumstick, prior to being deep fried. The tickle of laughter grew stronger in Booth's throat as Brennan reached up to swipe flour away from her face and found that she was only adding more layers with her flour-caked hands.

When Brennan scrunched up her nose and sneezed, sending clouds of flour drifting gently into the air, Booth lost it. He leaned back against the counter and howled. She attempted to glare daggers at him, but her inability to see through the flour only made her recent incarnation as the Pillsbury Doughboy look cross-eyed.

Booth tried valiantly to pull it together, but then she sneezed again, a tiny, muffled "ah-CHOO" that would have been more suited to a Smurf. He bent double and braced his hands on the nearest surface, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Brennan smacked him upside the head, raining flour down on him. He opened his mouth to protest and inhaled a cloud of fine white particles that sent him into a coughing fit.

"What's going-whoa."

Both adults looked up to find Parker standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes wide. Booth barely had time to pick up on the evil glint in his only child's eyes before said child scooped up a handful of flour and hurled it with accuracy that befitted the son of one of the best snipers in the country.

"Mmmfffppphhtt!" Booth caught the handful square in the face and fell backwards, flailing.

Parker took advantage of the situation and pelted his target with ample handfuls, only to find himself being suddenly rounded on by Brennan, who seemed to have recovered sufficiently to realize that the adults in the room were somehow outnumbered by a mischievous child, even though that didn't add up mathematically.

She crammed a handful of flour into the boy's hair and earned a return volley of flour before she could hastily retreat behind Booth. He snatched up a large clod and threw it at Parker, then dodged sideways to avoid his retaliation, so it hit Brennan.

Apparently annoyed at his lack of loyalty, Brennan turned on Booth and rained flour on him, while Parker danced around the kitchen bombarding them from every angle. Using the only weapon he presently had at arm's length other than flour, Booth ducked, grabbed Brennan's waist and planted a floury kiss on her that made Parker complain,

"That's cheating!"

He continued kissing her long enough to whisper, _"On three" _in her ear, hoping that she'd understand.

_One._

_Two._

"Three!" Booth pivoted and tackled a totally unsuspecting Parker, while Brennan provided backup in the form of machine-gun style flour rounds.

Father and son rolled around on the floor, wrestling each other until, by unspoken consensus, they turned on Brennan and hauled her, shrieking, into the mix. If neighbors had complained about this particular noise disturbance, they would have had to vacuum the suspects before handing them over to the police. No self-respecting cop would allow all that flour in his vehicle.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**HUGE thanks to Amilyn, who has kept me going these last two long weeks. I'm exhausted and very grateful for the friendship you've extended to me during a really rough time, as well as your generous postponing of your own writing, in order to read my own stuff. Your good humor and patient willingness to listen to me vent have been every bit as valuable as the writing feedback you've provided. Danke schon, mein Freund.**

**And, again, thank you to those who are still reading and letting me know their thoughts on things. Please know that your feedback always makes my day and that I never take it for granted.**

**Preview for 74: It's hard to preview the next chapter, given that my outline is now slightly revised due to the chapter extension. Not sure what will fall in 74 and what will end up in 75. There will be angst. (I will re-emphasize that I am NOT splitting them up!) Their first Christmas as a couple. Another trip, of sorts. A housewarming party. A major revelation about Brennan's recurring nightmare. And quite a bit more to come in these last few chapters, including a few more valentines, probably, and at least one more slow dance. (What can I say? I'm a little obsessed. ;) So stay with me, please. I'm really excited about the ending scene I have planned shortly and hope it fulfills everybody's expectations. =)**


	74. Season's Greetings

**The chapter is (almost) entirely told from Brennan's perspective. I usually have a much more even balance of both their voices, but this chapter wrote itself from her point of view.**

**Once again, the chapter is episodic in nature. We start with the culmination of Thanksgiving and move into Christmas, followed by … well, you'll see. Last chapter was all fluff; this one definitely isn't. Please DO NOT freak out at the scenario that eventually unfolds below. It's angst-heavy, and I know everybody is angsted-out by the TV series, but bear with me. The angst has a purpose of drawing them closer together. And it will all work out by Chapter 75. ****I promise!**

**Both of my wonderful betas have been extremely busy with real life this week. They glanced at a couple of key scenes—thank you so much, ladies! I'm thankful for your presence in my life, both as brilliant betas and as my friends—but otherwise the chapter was entirely edited by yours truly. I hope the writing remains up to snuff anyway. **

**On this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all the blessings in my daily life. One of those blessings is those loyal readers who continue to stick with the story and to let me know their thoughts on each chapter. Your continued interested and feedback keeps me writing. Thank you.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan pushed her chair back from the table and smiled as Parker let out a heavily sedated snore from the guest bedroom, where he was sleeping off prodigious quantities of turkey and pie.

"Your son takes after you in ways that are not all strictly genetic."

"The kid has the right idea." Booth patted his stomach and groaned happily. "I don't know if I can even walk. That was fantastic, Bones."

"You already told me that repeatedly, in between bites," she reminded him in amusement.

He picked the wishbone off his very-well-cleaned plate and held it up. "We should make a wish."

She frowned. "Just because a furcula has been thoroughly baked alongside cranberry apple stuffing does not imbue it with any supernatural powers."

"Furcula?" Booth grimaced. "Geez. Couldn't they come up with a better name?"

"It's the diminutive of furca, where our words 'fork' and 'bifurcated' derive their etymology."

"Say that with an English accent, and you make a scary female version of Mr. Nigel Murray," Booth pointed out dryly. "It sounds like something a vampire would say, Bones. 'Allow me to fang you with my furcula.'"

"Your Romanian accent leaves something to be desired," Brennan noted.

"C'mon." He held out the wishbone. "Just make a wish, Bones. No squints are going to collapse dead from your momentary defection to the dark side."

Brennan rolled her eyes and leaned forward to grasp the furcula between her thumb and index finger.

"On the count of three, we pull and make our wishes." Booth took a firm hold of his own end. "One. Two. Three."

_Crack._

The bone cleaved neatly in two as pressure was exerted on it from opposite ends, leaving each with a jagged end.

"I wish that—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Booth interrupted. "You don't say your wish outloud, Bones. Then it won't come true."

"I find that saying my wishes aloud, so that people actually know what I desire, is the only way to make them come true," she pointed out logically.

Booth stood up. "I bet you wished that the dishes would magically do themselves, so you can work on your novel." He grinned at the surprised look on her face. "And you say psychics don't exist. Go write, Bones. I got this."

Booth was beginning to stack plates when she spoke from the doorway to the living room.

"I'm thankful for you, Booth."

He winked at her from over a stack of stuffing-smeared dishes. "As soon as I finish playing genie, I'll show you how thankful I am for you, Smurfette."

Brennan smiled and turned to start setting up her laptop.

Booth disliked cleaning up considerably less this year than he had other years. He hurried through scraping dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher, so he could fulfill part of his own particular wish. Thirty minutes later, he headed for the living room and found Brennan curled up on the couch snoring peacefully, her face bathed in the glow of her virtually blank computer screen. Apparently, her Tofurky also contained some of the same naturally sedative amino acid that she had told him was responsible for making people comatose after a good turkey dinner.

He carefully moved the laptop onto the coffee table and slid an arm under Brennan's knees. Her leaf-patterned brown skirt rode up around her long legs. If he hadn't been so sleepy, he would have been much more interested in taking it off her. Brennan's lithe body, with or without sexy lingerie, held endless fascination for the FBI Agent. He lifted her against his chest, supporting her back with his free arm. Her head lolled against his shoulder and he took a couple of seconds just to enjoy the fulfillment of many a fantasy.

Moving slowly, both because she was heavier than usual and because he was stuffed to the gills, he carried her into the bedroom and closed the door with his foot. Easing her down onto the bed, Booth tugged off her sandals, then his shoes, before following her down on top of the comforter. He pulled a light throw over both of them.

She muttered in her sleep and reflexively scrunched her cold toes. He tangled his legs with hers and sandwiched her feet between his, rubbing the soles of his over the arches of hers until her toes unclenched. It might have been a ridiculous thing to be thankful for, but he was suddenly grateful for being the guy who got to warm her up.

Smoothing the hair away from her face, he whispered the other half of his wish into her ear.

"I wished that sixty years from now you'll still be thankful for me, Bones. I'll never stop being thankful for you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Brennan, this place is amazing." Angela wound strands of red and gold tinsel around the banister, creating a Christmas-y double helix effect

Brennan skirted Caesar, who was busy stalking an errant strand of tinsel, and entered the room. She watched her friend unspool festive table runners from the top of the stairs, creating a green carpet effect. "Are you sure this is all necessary?"

From the kitchen where he was obediently tending the cookies that Angela had warned must not be baked longer than the prescribed twelve minutes, Hodgins yelled, "Don't bother, Dr. B. Impending motherhood has given her Acute Nesting Syndrome."

"Yes, it's totally necessary. It's not every day my best friend buys a gorgeous house with the man of her dreams." Angela stooped to smooth out a wrinkle in the green felt, holding onto the banister to help her balance. "And I'll give you Acute Beat-Down Syndrome if those cookies burn, Jack!"

"I'm on it, mon amour," Hodgins replied cheerfully, mutilating the endearment sufficiently that it sounded more Spanish than French. "Ne vous inquietez pas."

Angela pressed her hand to her growing stomach and rolled her eyes in Brennan's direction. "You and Booth have your secret language so, naturally, Jack has decided he also has to play."

Brennan grinned. "Booth's Romanian isn't any better than Hodgins' French."

Twin outraged male protests came flying from different parts of the house.

"_Hey!"_

The women exchanged amused glances before Angela continued with her decorating.

The house buzzed with activity. Without an assigned task—her job was, according to Angela, to relax—Brennan stood back and tried to do as ordered by observing the goings-on in her new home.

From the dining room she could hear Mr. Nigel Murray's distinctive voice spouting its usual fountain of useless facts, juxtaposed with an annoyed Booth's sarcastic quips as he tried to break free of the oblivious intern.

"The first microwave oven was invented when Dr. Percy Spencer was experimenting with a magnetron, when he noticed that the chocolate in his pocket had melted. He placed some popcorn kernels next to the magnetron and noticed that they popped. Further experimentation led to the first microwave oven's debut in 1947. It cost $3,000 and was the size of a small refrigerator."

"What else would you expect from a guy whose lab coat looked like it got too close to a leaky diaper?"

"The word 'diaper' was originally used in 19th century England to refer to quilted cloth with repeated geometric shapes that was used for cloth nappies. The first American diapers were plastic panties made of the same material as shower curtains."

Brennan missed Booth's reaction to that particular gem as she turned her attention to the living room.

Daisy hung gaudy Christmas stockings on the fireplace before bouncing over to Sweets, who was muttering under his breath as he attempted to assemble the fiber-optic Christmas tree that Angela had insisted must be erected prior to the housewarming party due to begin in 45 minutes.

"Insert the pole of vertical Section B into Section C, which should hang parallel to inverted section M." Sweets flipped the pages of the assembly manual. "Where the hell is M?"

"Lancelot, that is _not_ a happy face …"

"Christmas trees aren't supposed to come in boxes," the baby-faced psychologist groused, sifting through the assorted debris before him. "This kind of product just speaks to an increasingly consumer-driven mentality, where even the simple pleasure of picking out a real tree with the kids has become a responsibility relegated to corporations."

"Let me see," Booth ordered, escaping into the living room. He'd obliged Angela by wearing the first of her many housewarming presents. Brennan hid a smile at his reindeer patterned socks, prominently on display as he walked around barefoot so as not to track in any slush from D.C.'s recent rainstorm.

"You need an expert for this, Sweets. Kids don't assemble trees, parents do. Go play with your new Tonka truck or something."

Mr. Nigel Murray wandered in after him.

"Did you know that Queen Victoria's German husband Albert is credited with being the person who first introduced Christmas trees to England? The original decorations were apples, roses and nuts. Martin Luther is believed to have been the first person to place a star atop a fir tree, after he witnessed stars shining through bare boughs in the Black Forest."

Booth ducked under the partially assembled tree base in an attempt to avoid further unsolicited enlightenment. Sweets was right behind him and the two men audibly collided heads. Though she couldn't clearly see their faces, Brennan could imagine the looks as they glared at each other.

"Jack! Why do I smell burnt cookies?" Angela rushed by Brennan, holding an armful of seasonal decor.

"If the cookies are burned, we can always eat the tree," Mr. Nigel Murray went on blithely. "Many parts of pines, spruces, and firs can be eaten. The needles are a good source of vitamin C. Pine nuts, or pine cones, are also a good source of nutrition."

"The tree is plastic, brainiac." Hodgins joined the crowd in the living room as he fled from Angela's wrath.

"Interestingly, artificial Christmas trees were first manufactured in 1930 by the Addis Company, which is better known for making toilet bowl brushes."

"Dude! That is so wrong," Sweets yelped from beneath the tree, where he was wrestling Booth for control of the instruction manual.

"If you look at it from the right angle, an artificial tree _could_ resemble a giant green toilet brush," the scientist mused thoughtfully, ignoring the irritated glare he received from Hodgins.

"Tie him up with tinsel," Booth suggested.

"Ah. Now, tinsel. That's a fascinating story. Tinsel was invented in Germany around 1610. Machines pulled real silver into wafer thin strips which were then hung on trees. However, this tarnished rapidly, particularly when exposed to constant candlelight. An alloy of lead and tin was attempted as a shinier substitute, but the very weight of this caused branches to break. So silver was used until the mid-20th century, when plastic replaced branches and bark."

"I'm about to feed you one of your nutritious tree branches," Hodgins threatened. "Maybe all that plastic Vitamin C will keep you quiet for a minute."

"Dr. Albert Szent-Gyorgyi first isolated and identified Vitamin C's metabolic mechanism …"

Brennan retreated as Hodgins started after her intern with a straggly green branch, precipitating a complaint from Sweets.

"Did you steal my S-17?"

She found Angela lifting slightly-scorched cookies onto a plate while somehow simultaneously extracting the ham from the oven and slicing it. A pot of cinnamon sticks, cloves, and apple slices bubbled on the stove, filling the house with a soft, spicy fragrance.

"Go away," Angela commanded. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

"You're the one who's pregnant," Brennan retorted. "I am taking it easy, Ange. By definition, taking it easy for me is actually quite hard. There must be something I can help with."

"It's your housewarming party. I don't want you to lift a finger." Angela squeezed frosting onto her cookies, creating eyes and mouths for sugar snowmen that also served as camouflage for a few overly browned bits.

Brennan lifted a cupcake and inspected its decoration. Somewhere between roasting a ham, caramelizing carrots, putting together a yam casserole and baking cookies, Angela had managed to concoct individual turkey decorations for each cupcake from Oreos, candy corn, malted milk balls and Reese's peanut butter cups.

"These are very creative, Angela. You must have spent several days preparing all of this."

Her friend pivoted neatly and lifted the simmering pot off the stove, still squeezing frosting with her free hand. "Can I hold out hope that I'll have a bridal shower to lose sleep over one of these days, sweetie?"

"It's unlikely," Brennan answered, unperturbed by Angela's perpetual pipedream.

"Unlikely doesn't mean impossible. We're making progress," her friend said optimistically, turning her attention to a freshly tossed salad in need of garnishes.

"Isn't she great?" Hodgins stuck his head in the doorway and gave his wife a besotted look. "She's gone all domestic. I almost don't recognize her."

"Take two more steps and I'll smack you with a spatula," Angela warned. "Get Brennan a glass of wine, Jack, and keep it far away from me. I really need a drink."

Hodgins and Brennan looked at each other and shrugged. They left Angela to her self-inflicted whirlwind of activity and stepped back into the living room, from which Mr. Nigel Murray had mysteriously vanished.

"Would you just go away?" Sweets pleaded from somewhere amidst the tangle of branches. "Agent Booth, you're making this ten times harder than it already is."

"If you'd quit hogging the instructional manual or had listened in the first place and let me do this on my own, we'd be done!"

Daisy hovered above the two men, offering an unhelpfully annoying running commentary. "Didn't your mothers ever teach you boys to share? Two heads are better than one, but not if they're colliding."

The doorbell rang and Brennan made her way through piles of housewarming gifts to the front door. She opened it and found Colin Fisher, her eternally pessimistic lab assistant, standing in a puddle of slush looking even more morose than usual.

"I'd say Merry Christmas, but that would be a lie." He trudged into the house after wiping off his shoes and handing her a bright red toaster.

"Zip it, Eeyore," Angela called from somewhere nearby. "Paste a smile on your face and go help Booth and Sweets put the tree together. They're proving unsurprisingly inept at anything un-FBI related."

Muttering under his breath, Fisher slouched his way in the direction she pointed just as the doorbell rang again. Brennan swung it open and Cam smiled at her from beneath the voluminous folds of an oddly bulging raincoat.

"Karaoke SoundStation, as requested," she explained, stepping inside. "Michelle let me borrow it after hearing about your musical valentines. She thought that was sooooo romantic. I don't know if you should be worried or not about her attraction to your boyfriend, Dr. Brennan."

"Sorry, Cam. I don't really go for younger women." Booth appeared in the hallway, decorated with assorted pieces of stray red tinsel and artificial green pine needles that clashed incongruously with the dark overcoat he was for some reason wearing.

Brennan couldn't suppress a smile at his rumpled appearance, so at odds with his usually immaculate self.

He ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging several bits of green. "Hey, Bones, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Cam discreetly slipped by them, allowing them some marginal privacy just as Daisy started to warble the Twelve Days of Christmas in an attempt to perk up the irate tree engineers. Mr. Nigel Murray reappeared and began an impromptu dissertation on the symbolism of each object in the song, leading to warning rumbles from an increasingly cranky Hodgins.

"Outside might be quieter," Brennan commented.

They stepped outside onto the porch and Booth opened his coat so that Brennan, who was sleeveless in an emerald top, in keeping with the holiday color scheme ordained by Angela, could join him. He closed it around them and guided them to the swing, which was covered well enough by the screen and roof overhang that it wasn't overly wet. They settled onto it, bodies pressed close together.

He pushed off the porch with one foot so they swung slowly back and forth in the hazy rays of moonlight. "You doin' okay in there, Bones?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Brennan closed her eyes so as to better enjoy the contrast of the cool wind on her face and her partner's warm arms around her waist.

"You know. The whole Christmas thing. Sometimes it gets to you, and Angela's going kind of overboard in there."

"Angela means well," she answered, touched at his concern.

"Yeah. Just—I know this season isn't exactly your favorite."

Brennan lifted her head just enough to glance at his face, which was partially obscured by long shadows. "I dislike the memories I associate with Christmas, not necessarily the holiday itself. However, it's not as though I can escape the season. I would like to build new memories around it."

"New memories." He looked down at her and smiled. "I'm better at that than putting together trees."

Brennan smirked. "I agree with that assessment of your abilities."

"I've got a few other good qualities." Booth cupped her cheek with one hand and angled her head gently toward his.

"Do you?" she teased.

"Just a few." He kissed her, his mouth stroking unhurriedly over hers. "I brought blankets so we can put that fireplace to good use after everybody leaves."

She wrapped her fingers around each of his broad shoulders for better leverage. "Your creativity is an excellent quality."

Booth nibbled at her bottom lip. "Good thing. Keeping you interested is a fulltime occupation."

"Do you mind?"

"Oh, yeah. Terribly." He reached inside the coat and rubbed his thumbs over the swell of her breasts through the thin satin fabric of her blouse. "Can't you tell?"

They lost themselves in each other, trading the cold wind for warm breaths and warmer words exchanged in between parted lips.

"Six years of _nada_, and then this. Why am I not surprised?"

A Cajun-inflected accent caused them to jolt apart in surprise. Even though they were hidden by his coat and the darkness, Booth self-consciously dropped his hands from the intimate portion of Brennan's anatomy they'd been exploring.

Caroline Julian glared at them from over a tumbler of eggnog. "I was beginning to think we'd have to use the Jaws of Life to pry you two apart!" The prosecutor's gruff reprimand did nothing to hide the delight on her face. "The sooner you get back inside and let Angela finish the housewarming, the sooner you can get back to warming each other."

Booth smiled. "Merry Christmas, Caroline."

"Uh-huh. Looks like you're going to be having yourselves a very very merry one," she retorted, disappearing back into the house.

"Guess we better go inside before she hands us a subpoena." Booth sighed and got to his feet, holding out a hand to help Brennan.

She laced her fingers through his and pulled herself upright, rubbing her bare arms.

He held the door open for her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder as she stepped by him, erasing the momentary chill she'd felt without his coat around her. "Fireplace."

Brennan gave him a heated look of agreement. "Blankets."

Their casual entry into the living room fooled no one.

Angela and Cam gave them knowing smiles, while Hodgins mostly smirked and Sweets looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. Caroline folded her arms across her chest and scowled in that way that said she was actually beaming. In the next room over, Daisy was yowling some Karaoke tune or other, keeping Fisher, Mr. Nigel Murray, and other recently arrived guests well entertained.

In the fifteen minutes or so that the pair had been gone, the living room had been transformed. The tree was mostly assembled save for a few lone branches that were scattered around the room, which Caesar was batting about. Housewarming gifts were piled underneath. A folding table covered in silver and gold held a quantity of food that spoke volumes about the lengths Angela had gone to for this party, in spite of her usual dislike of culinary arts. The logs that Booth had piled in the fireplace earlier glowed dimly as flames began to work their way across them. The mantle was covered in Christmas decorations that hadn't made it onto the somewhat sagging tree. And, spread across an otherwise bare wall, signed by all their friends, was a large homemade banner:

**Welcome home, Booth and Brennan!**

Angela waved her glass of cider at the ceiling, her free hand resting on her slight belly. "Look up."

They glanced up and encountered an enormous sprig of mistletoe, centered directly above their heads.

"Entirely coincidental," Caroline assured them. "But convenient."

The partners exchanged glances. Brennan raised an eyebrow and Booth shrugged.

"Are 10 flotillas enough?" He didn't wait for the answer before he grabbed Brennan, dipped her dramatically, and kissed her in front of all their friends.

The room erupted in loud applause and catcalls, led by Angela's distinctive squeal and Caroline's observation,

"If that's how you kiss your brother, we might need to have a talk, cheri."

Brennan twined her arms around his neck and reciprocated without reservations. As the cheering of her surrogate family grew louder and Booth's low, somewhat sheepish laugh reverberated through her, it occurred to the anthropologist that maybe she really had come home, at long last.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The Christmas lights garlanding the giant tree in the lobby blinked on and off steadily, reflecting tiny glints of white and gold off the lab tables, instruments and steel girders. In years past, the large Jeffersonian tree had been an unwelcome reminder of the day Brennan's childhood was buried under a pile of unwrapped Christmas presents. Over the years of working with Booth, she'd caught occasional glimpses of her truncated teenage self, as revealed by his gentle teasing and insistence that she not always take herself so seriously. Recently, she'd felt rather like a Christmas present herself, slowly being unwrapped carefully-planned surprised by carefully-planned surprise, until maybe one day she'd regain some of the playfulness of that lost child again, if only with him.

So she might have viewed the tree differently this year, had she really even noticed it as she walked by, but her attention was wholly held by the envelope in her hands.

She nodded distantly at several new interns, none of whom had shown particular promise yet. The fact that one of them was wearing fuzzy antlers adorned with miniature bells did little to reassure her that she'd made the right decision in hiring them on. The metallic jingle set her teeth on edge and, if she'd been walking past the interns, she would undoubtedly have snapped at them. Even though it was past lunchtime and she really couldn't justify taking more personal time than the hour allotted to her, she walked into her office and moved toward her chair, then backtracked and sat down instead on the edge of the couch.

Brennan turned the envelope over in her hands several times, noting the address and sender. Her emotions were a convoluted tangle of hopeful and afraid. Finally, she picked up a letter opener and slit the flap. She removed the crisply folded letter and unfolded it, then pressed it flat against her knee to better read.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there re-reading the same words when a warm hand landed on her shoulder. Brennan looked up to find Angela staring down at her with concern, wearing her own version of reindeer antlers and gaudy green and red seasonal attire.

"Sweetie." The artist's face had grown round much faster than her midsection. The addition of a few extra pregnancy pounds had given her unfamiliar dimples, which Hodgins raved about on a regular basis. "You've been staring at the letter ever since I walked in here. That was fifteen minutes ago."

"I applied so long ago for the position," Brennan said slowly. It's not as though I'd forgotten. I made an unfounded assumption that the votes had already been cast."

"Votes?" Angela sat down on the couch beside her and lifted a pillow into her lap. "What, like _Survivor _votes? What position?"

Brennan momentarily debated trying to explain, then decided the letter was clear enough in its intent. She handed it to Angela. The artist scanned the document, idly rubbing her fingers over the fine texture of the stationery. Abruptly, her fingers went still and she lifted her head to stare at Brennan.

"No." Angela shook her head. "No way, Brennan. You're not going to accept this."

"It's not that simple. The position is extremely prestigious, Angela. When I applied, I was aware that, in spite of my credentials and qualifications, there would be a slim chance of my application yielding a successful return."

Angela's fingers tightened on the letter, creating small indentations around its edges. "You don't understand—this isn't a successful return, Brennan. ."

"My application was accepted." Brennan reached out to retrieve the document, only to have Angela snatch it away. "How is the return not successful?"

"It's not successful because of what it will do to everybody around you!" Angela snapped. "Maybe it's successful for your career, Brennan, but this letter isn't going to do your personal relationships any good."

She hadn't had time to prepare herself for Angela's reaction. If she'd had a few hours, maybe a day, at least, she could have planned logical counterattacks to rebut the irrational arguments. Without the benefit of such time, Brennan found herself floundering—an unfamiliar sensation in itself—under the weight of Angela's emotion.

"Are you seriously considering this?" Angela waved the letter. "_Seriously_, Bren?"

"'Considering' it would imply that I believe there's a choice to be made other than accepting the offer."

"Don't even try that on me." Angela clutched the pillow in tandem with the increasingly battered letter. "You haven't made the decision yet. If you had, you wouldn't have been staring at that letter when I walked in, looking so sad that I thought somebody had died."

"I will admit that I felt some momentary, irrational, uncertainty when I first received the letter." Brennan pursed her lips. "However, there really is no choice to be made, Angela. If you were invited to spend a year working as curator for the Louvre, you wouldn't think twice about it."

"I would if accepting the invitation had the potential to turn the lives of all my closest friends upside down."

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said, feeling lost at not being able to better empathize with such an irrational reaction to what was, in her mind, a clear-cut decision.

"You're the center, Brennan. If you leave, the rest of us don't have anything left to anchor us here. We'll all go spinning off into outer space."

"That's ridiculous," the anthropologist replied flatly. "While it will be difficult to replace me, Cam will have time before I leave to locate a forensic anthropologist who can capably perform the majority of my duties and who will provide a metaphorical anchor for the work that you and Hodgins do."

"Brennan. You're the reason I'm at the Jeffersonian." Angela folded the pillow in half and pressed it tightly against her stomach. "Believe me, my life plan never had anything in it about drawing people's death masks as a career prospect! I came onboard because you asked me to. If you leave, I don't have any reason to stay."

That was something Brennan definitely hadn't considered.

"Your reason for staying should be the service you are providing to society," she argued, "Not the fact that your best friend is employed by the museum."

"Don't tell me what my reasons are for doing my job," Angela retorted. "This crypt is only bearable because my best friend is down in the dungeon with me, fighting to stave off psychos and their pendulums. If you leave, I do too. And if I go, Jack goes with me."

"When Sully invited me to sail around the world, you were very adamant that I should go."

"That was different, Brennan. Following your heart is different from following your career." She reached out and squeezed Brennan's knee. "_The centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world._ You're the falconer, Brennan. Whether or not you like it."

"I never asked to be the center of anything," she protested. "I can't be a prisoner to one job my entire life simply because people have a misguided notion that I'm their anchor. I have other interests and career avenues I would eventually like to explore."

"So do I. I've stayed at this job because you needed me, Bren. So now you're just going to walk out on me? On your godchild?"

"I'm sorry that I won't be here for the birth of your daughter," Brennan said quietly, reaching out to touch Angela's arm in an attempt to communicate her sincere regret. "However, I will only be gone for six months. Upon my return I could still perform the godparent duties you outlined for me, if you would still like me to assume that role."

"Forget me." Angela swung off on another tangent, not unlike her metaphorical pendulum. "What about Cam? How is she going to feel when you announce you're leaving and then Jack and I follow you overboard?"

"I'm certain that Cam will accept my application for a six month sabbatical and encourage it, in light of the new knowledge I will acquire, which will prove beneficial to my work at the Jeffersonian, not to mention the prestige the museum will attain at having an employee in such a coveted position."

"Forget Cam," Angela said impatiently. "What about Booth? Tell me you've at least thought about what this is going to do to him."

Brennan looked down at the floor. "When I applied for the position, he and I weren't dating."

"Well, you're _way _past dating now," Angela said sarcastically. "Buying a house together has to count for some kind of grounding effect, Brennan. What the hell are you gonna say to him? 'Sorry, Booth. A better offer came my way'? You might as well put his heart in a paper shredder!"

"That sounds painful."

Both women simultaneously turned to find Booth standing at the threshold of the office. One hand gripped the side of the half-open door, the other fiddled with the poker chip in his pocket. Brennan wished, not for the first time, that she was better at reading body language. Her immediate impression was that, even though the expression on his face was neutral, it was carefully so. He somehow seemed to be holding himself a little more tensely than usual.

Unsure of how much he had heard, Brennan struggled to come up with an appropriate greeting. He pre-empted her by moving into the room and tilting his head in the direction of the door.

"Ange, you mind if Bones and I talk privately for a minute?"

Angela looked from Brennan to Booth and back again before getting to her feet. "Don't let her do it, Booth."

The click of the door closing behind her was magnified by the awkward tension in the room. Brennan sat up straight, in a position that Sweets might have labeled confrontational.

Booth hooked his thumbs into his pockets, hovering a few feet short of the couch. "Better offer. That's when I walked in. Are we talking better offer, like, better looking with more scientific cred than me, Bones, or better offer, meaning more money and more letters added behind your PhDs?"

His words were blunt, and she was grateful at not having to navigate the subtleties of emotional innuendo. Direct and to the point were two of her strengths.

"Angela was referring to a job."

In spite of her reassurance that there was no other man in the picture, Booth's expression remained guarded.

"A job offer," he repeated and cleared his throat. "Did I somehow miss you sending out resumes?"

"I applied well over a year ago." Brennan held up the letter. "This arrived for me today, by courier."

Still, he didn't sit down, and his stance grew even more rigid, as though he was bracing for a blow.

"Just tell me one thing, Bones." He looked up at the ceiling and around the room, then directly at her. She might not have been able to read body language very well, but the wariness in Booth's eyes was hard to miss. "Is this that job in Maluku?" Tellingly, he didn't make his customary joke about the name.

Brennan sat back, surprised. "I wouldn't have expected you to remember."

"It was important to you." Booth's jaw tightened. "You got all excited after getting that email confirming the project had received full funding. We were having lunch here, working on some case, and you didn't even try and steal any of my fries. You kept getting up to look in your atlas for stuff about the islands."

His recall of the minute details of her excitement was something she might have dwelt on, if Booth hadn't still been talking.

"It involved my partner taking a year-long sabbatical away from our work together. Away from me." He made a fist and punched it lightly into the palm of his other hand. "Yeah, I remember, Bones."

"The length of the project has been reduced to six months," she told him, hoping that would somehow make things better.

Again, his eyes cast about the room, as though searching for answers somewhere besides her face. "I remember you getting the email. I remember you getting so excited you didn't even go after my fries." He ticked off the series of events in a monotone. "I remember Angela telling me you were here all night. She tried to get me to make you go home." Booth laughed, though there was nothing humorous in the chuckle. "I remember all that, Bones. What I don't remember is you actually telling me you submitted the application."

"I did," Brennan said immediately. "When you attempted to strong-arm me back to my apartment, I explained to you that the reason I was tired was that I had been working on my application. In order to convince you to stop bothering me, I agreed that I would take a nap at lunch and go home early."

"Working on your application," he repeated.

She wondered if she was imagining the edge of anger in his voice.

"You said 'working.' Not 'sending.' When exactly did you send the application in, Bones?"

"That same night," she said in confusion. "That's why I stayed late. I asked you before I applied what your feelings were, and you told me to do what was best for me. I sent the application out that evening." It was suddenly very important that she convince him that she hadn't been hiding this. "I did tell you," she insisted. "I wouldn't have sent in my application without first consulting my partner. Applying for the position had potential ramifications on our work together—" She stumbled, trying to get him to understand—to believe. "Your opinion was important to me, Booth."

Booth dropped his chin to his chest. For a long moment he stood there, shoulders bowed, hands still in his pockets, arms held rigidly outward at a slight angle from his body. Finally, he raised his head and looked her in the eye again.

"So that's the letter that came today?"

She nodded, holding it out a second time.

"And you got the job." Booth nodded several times. "Obviously."

"It was an extremely competitive position," she objected. "There was never any guarantee that I would be asked to join the project."

He finally sat down, not on the couch with her, but on one of the other chairs. Rather than sinking back into the cushion as he would usually do, he sat on the edge, elbows braced on his knees, hands forming a cradle in which he rested his chin. He looked down at the carpet, seeming to be concentrating on following the pattern as he spoke.

"You got the job."

"Yes."

He looked sideways at her, out of the corner of his eye. "And you've already made the decision to go."

The answer to that question wasn't as straightforward as Brennan's inner logic told her it should have been.

"Yes," she began. Then, "No. I would have spoken with you before accepting." She heard her own words and tried again, "I would have spoken with you before making the decision to accept …" Brennan trailed off. He was right.

Booth's head dropped to his chest a second time and his eyes closed, shutting out her only avenue of reading his feelings.

"I have to go, Booth." For years, Brennan had been accountable only to science, bones, and Brennan. She was unaccustomed to considering the feelings of others when making what Angela termed 'life plans.' And yet, here she was, pleading for his approval in a manner that not too long ago she would have deemed downright submissive.

"I know." Booth's reply took her by surprise. He opened his eyes and looked over at her, leaving Brennan feeling glued to the couch by the sad acceptance in his gaze. "I know you do."

His words seemed to ricochet around her mind, severing the chains that she'd momentarily felt trapped by. He was setting her free, but freedom suddenly felt as oppressive as captivity.

"I would have expected you to try and change my mind," she admitted.

Booth sighed and sat back against the seat, hands folding into loose fists. "When has that ever worked?" His tone was resigned.

"You should try," Brennan blurted. "Parker informed me that children need to be told what to do even when they already know what is required of them. Perhaps I need a reminder of what is required of me, Booth."

He lifted a shoulder in a tired shrug. "Being you is the only thing required here, Bones. I want you to stay—" his voice cracked slightly, sending a shard of guilt through Brennan, before picking up strongly again, "But I'm not going to tie you down. Even if we were married, I wouldn't do that. Until we have kids, there's some slack on that ball and chain."

He knew the metaphor she'd been envisioning. He knew her that well. Brennan scooted over to the side of the couch that was closest to him. Tentatively, she placed her hand on his knee and he just looked at it.

"You spoke in the future tense when referring to potential offspring," Brennan said uncertainly. "Does that mean you still want to have children with me?"

"I want kids with you, Bones."

She let out a breath she'd been unconsciously holding.

Booth slowly uncurled his fingers and placed his hand over hers. "I just have to figure out whether you want them enough with me—or anybody else—to turn down the next opportunity that comes your way when you have a toddler who needs his mother more than the world needs the next big anthropological discovery."

"I would be a good mother," Brennan said, stung by what she felt was a couched accusation.

"I know you would. But you're also a really good scientist. And, sometimes, being a mom is going to have to win out over working late or solving the next murder mystery. Same goes for me. If we have kids, I'm gonna cut back hours to spend as much time as possible being a dad."

"I realize that," she said stiffly, trying to pull away. "I do understand that having a child will entail major life changes, Booth. My child_ would_ be my priority."

He held her hand prisoner against his knee, refusing to let her escape. "You'd be—you will be— a great mom, Bones. You'll figure out the whole work/life thing, just like you've figured out everything else. I just—I just don't want you to be unhappy or feel like I made you choose having a family with me over being the Jeffersonian's star squint."

"I want to have a family with you." Brennan stopped struggling and leaned in closer, so their shoulders brushed. "I want to move into our new house and learn about cohabiting in a romantic relationship, versus one that is solely sexual."

He smiled very slightly at that, giving her hope.

"I want to be a mother and I want you to be the father of my children. But I need to take this job, Booth. Before we have children. Before I am completely … tied down."

"Don't say it like that." He nudged her shoulder with his. "You can still travel and go on digs after having kids, Bones. Just not as much."

"So you're implying that you do want to continue our relationship?" Brennan asked hesitantly.

"You're the one leaving," he pointed out. "Not the other way around. Yeah, Bones. I want to continue our relationship."

"Why?" she asked, needing to know. "I realize that the decision I'm making is inherently selfish given the new boundaries of our relationship and yet, I feel compelled to take the position. Why do you still want to be with me when I'm hurting you yet again?"

He raised an eyebrow and sat back in the chair, letting her hand go at last. "For starters, we just bought a house together, Bones."

Old walls of self-defense rose around her automatically. If the house was the only thing keeping him beholden to her, that could easily be amended. "If you want to end the relationship, don't feel bound to me by finances. I can easily afford to buy your half of the title from you."

"After six months, you know damn well the house isn't what's 'binding me to you,'" Booth said impatiently. "Don't go there, Bones. I've more than proved that I'm committed to this relationship, come hell or high water. So don't try and question my motives or push me away. It won't work."

She couldn't even feel hurt by his blunt reprimand. She deserved it.

"We've got a cat," he went on. "A murdered car in a double garage in a brand new house with both our names on the mortgage. And, like it or not, Bones, there's a proposal headed your way in less than a year's time."

"You still plan on asking? In spite of my desire to take this job?"

"I love you," he said simply. "Whether or not you want to marry me, I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. That hasn't changed, Bones. It isn't going to."

In spite of her personal views on marriage—views that she admittedly was beginning to at least revisit, if not outright revise—Brennan found herself strangely happy at his answer.

He held out an arm and she sat down on his lap and slid back against him, her head resting in its familiar place on his shoulder. He rested his head over hers and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her securely.

"Do you think I'm running again?" she asked, not entirely certain of the answer herself.

"Nah." He squeezed her waist. "You want to be part of digging up the missing link between man and monkey. If you didn't, I'd wonder which one of Hodgins' aliens came down and kidnapped your brain. You love your job, Bones."

"Your willingness to accept my decision—it makes me love you more," she said into his shirt.

"So that means I get Oreo points. Sweet."

She could still hear the sadness in his voice, in spite of his attempt to joke about things.

"Six months, huh." He trailed his fingers up and down her arm. "Good thing we haven't moved much out of my apartment yet."

Brennan frowned and pulled away just enough to look into his face. "I don't know what that means."

"It means I'm not moving into the house without you."

"That isn't rational," she protested. "The paperwork is complete. The property is ours. Leaving it empty for six months is unwise. And it's much nicer than your place."

"The whole point of buying the house was for us to create a home together. If you want to go off and dig up bones on a tropical island for six months, we'll find someone to live in the place while you're gone." His expression was implacable. "But I'm not making memories in that house without you there, Bones. Don't even try and convince me."

She settled back against him, enjoying the solid reassurance of his arms folded tightly around her. "It's irrational, but in some ways I wish you would offer me reasons I should stay."

"I can give you any number of reasons, but none of them would make you change your mind. They'd just make you feel worse than you do already. You said it, Bones." He stroked her hair. "You need this. I'm not going to stand in your way."

He loved her. She knew it and yet, in this moment, she understood it. He loved her enough to let her walk away, taking it on faith—his invisible, irrational, unshakeable faith—that she would come back to him in the end.

"When do you leave?" he asked quietly.

"January 6th."

Booth sighed. "That soon."

"Six weeks," she confirmed.

His voice held wry amusement. "How's that for irony?"

"Can we at least celebrate Christmas in the new house?" she asked. "I realize Angela's housewarming party was a celebration of the season, but I would like to have our own party."

"We can do that."

She could hear the smile in his tone as clearly as she heard the switch to disappointment when he commented, "I wish Parker could be with us."

Brennan searched for a way to alleviate his despondence over missing his favorite holiday with his son.

"You can teach me all the Christmas traditions this year," she offered. "So next year, when Parker spends the holiday with us, I'll be well-versed. It will give me time to practice pretending that I actually believe in a mythical, obese Caucasian male who defies the laws of gravity and time to deliver flying presents to children around the world."

He laughed. "Thanks, Bones. I hate to admit it, but Parker's kind of beyond the whole believing in Santa thing by now. When we have kids, we'll have to work out some kind of a compromise so you don't feel like you're lying and I don't feel like you're outright killing the fun of Christmas for the little ones."

"We'll figure it out," she said confidently.

"We will," he agreed, tipping her chin up and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "So. You're probably gonna spend every waking minute from here till the 15th getting stuff ready for your trip, huh."

"Not _every _waking minute. I would like to go back to your apartment and make love, but my examination of the Carlisle heiress is still proving frustratingly inconclusive as to what method was used to disarticulate all the victim's bones. I need to spend several more hours on the case before leaving."

"I brought over some stuff about the case that might be helpful. You think Angela would lend us her office for 20 minutes?" Booth's voice was only partially teasing.

"I doubt it. She's angry at me for accepting the job." Brennan felt a tightening in her chest at the unfamiliar conflict with her best friend. "Generally, Angela is very understanding of my motivations and work ethic. I don't understand her overtly emotional reaction to my decision."

He grazed his lips across her temple. "Her hormones are probably all over the place because of the pregnancy. Plus, she just found out her best friend won't be here when she delivers her baby. Give her a chance to work through things, Bones. She'll come around."

"My desires are diametrically opposed," Brennan said in frustration. "I want to be in Maluku, but I also want to be here with you and Angela."

"Being part Tin Man instead of just a Scarecrow can really suck sometimes."

For once, she understood his pop-cultural reference.

"You mean because my metaphorical heart is now as actively engaged as my brain, I'm finding more difficulty making decisions that would previously have seemed uncomplicated."

"You've always had a big heart, Bones." He touched her chest lightly. "You're just more aware of its actual existence now."

She knew she should get back to work, but leaving his embrace was even harder than usual.

"I suspect the next six weeks will seem to go by much faster than ours did."

"I hope the six months go by just as fast," Booth muttered. "I may have to change my views about cybersex in order to survive."

"Does that newly enlightened world view also apply to phone sex?" she asked mischievously.

"I don't know about that." Booth's tone turned serious. "Hey, Bones? Can you promise me something? I know you're all about pregnancy being a natural condition and not a disease and you'll probably want to be working all the way up to the day you're ready to deliver, but—"

Brennan cut him off by placing her hand over his mouth. She knew him well enough to follow this particular train of his thoughts unerringly. He hadn't been allowed to be present when Parker was born, and she was aware that remained an ever-present regret. "I want you beside me when I give birth, Booth. Though your summation of what we hope to accomplish in Maluku is quite superficial, not even 'the missing link between man and monkey' could compel me to work far enough away that you might not be present when I deliver our children."

He folded her fingers against her palm and kissed her knuckles. "That's something to dream about while I'm waiting for you to come home to me. Wanna go over the Carlisle stuff I dredged up?"

They traded talk of the future for talk of their victim's past, settling into their usual pattern of bouncing ideas off each other as they sifted through paperwork and worked together to build a picture of how Klarissa Carlisle's privileged childhood might have led to her gruesome death. Immersing themselves in her final days helped them avoid thinking of the deadline suddenly affixed to their time together.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Seeley, I'm so sorry." Rebecca's voice was sincere with regret. "If it wasn't snowing so damn hard here that we can't even ski, I'd hop a plane back to D.C."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine, Becca. I just figured you oughta know. Just in case." Booth stared moodily out the window of his SUV. Two days before Christmas Eve and D.C.'s weather was holding surprisingly steady. The sky was clear and cloudless and even the sun had decided to grace the city with an unusually warm appearance, so that several people outside the hospital were almost in shirtsleeves, instead of the usual winter wear that was common for the third week of December.

It figured. The one year he really wanted a white Christmas, so he could take Brennan on one of those cheesy horse carriage rides downtown and kiss her with the snow falling around them, and it didn't happen. Parker, on the other hand, was being deluged with so much snow in Vermont that Rebecca wasn't entirely certain he'd make it back in time for school on January 3rd if the storms didn't ease up pretty soon.

"Is Jared in town?" she asked.

"Nah. He and Padme are at her parents' place."

"What about Pops?"

"There's no point in bothering him," Booth replied. "I'm good, Becca. Don't worry."

"Somebody should be there with you," his ex insisted. "Is Cam around?"

"She's holed up in the Jeffersonian staff meeting with Bones, discussing new decontamination procedures from the CDC."

"So it was an elf? Like, little guy, pointy shoes, floppy hat?"

"Yeah. He looked like Will Ferrell," Booth said wryly. "I don't know what that says about my hallucinations, other than maybe I should watch some new movies. Hey, Becca, can I talk to Parker for a sec?"

"Here he is." There was the sound of shuffling as Rebecca scooted her chair back and handed the phone over.

"Dad! I'm booooored. We can't go anywhere and there's nothing to do."

Booth grinned at his son's whiny voice. "Sorry, bud. Have you asked your mom to elevator race with you?"

"She says it's inconsiderate to other hotel guests."

"It is!" Rebecca's knowing voice called. "Don't give him ideas, Seeley."

Even though she was a great mom, Rebecca wasn't particularly good at inventing spur-of-the-moment activities. Booth allowed himself a few moments to indulge in a pityfest—just a few. He could have come up with any number of activities to keep his son happy and busy. Instead, Parker was reduced to playing endless online games to keep from going totally stir-crazy while Rebecca balanced parenting with getting engaged to a guy who thought The Philadelphia Flyers were an Air Force squadron.

"What about indoor hide and seek?" Booth suggested.

"There's nobody to play with," Parker moaned.

"Snowball fights?"

"Too cold outside. Mom won't let me."

"Marshmallow roasting?"

"All the grown-ups have their big feet stuck halfway in the fireplace. I can't get near it, even if Mom would let me."

"Card games?"

"Dad. There's no one to play with me," Parker reminded him irately. "Solitaire is boring."

Booth thought for a minute. "How about this—can you find some toothpicks and soda cans?"

"I guess." Parker sounded marginally curious. "Why?"

"What about gum?"

Now his son's voice was decidedly more cheerful, given the prospect of a sticky mess. "Yeah. Lots of it."

"I bet you can come up with a pretty cool airplane model using those three things." He waited to see if Parker would reject the idea outright, or at least consider it.

Apparently stretched to the limit of his boredom, Parker exclaimed, "Hey, Mom! Can I go downstairs and get some toothpicks?" He dropped the phone and scampered off.

Rebecca's voice came on the line again. "What'd you do, Seeley? He hasn't looked that happy since the igloo Jason was building collapsed on him."

Booth grinned at the visual. "Listen. Don't tell Parker yet, okay? Wait until I get the results first."

"Okay." She sounded unconvinced. "Does Brennan know?"

"Not yet."

"Did you two split up because of her trip?"

"No," Booth answered sharply. "Bones and I—we're fine, Rebecca. The hallucination just happened this morning. I'll tell her as soon as she's out of the meeting."

"Hey, Seeley, Jason's mom is on the other line," she said apologetically. "Can I call you back?"

"There's no need. Just tell Parker I love him."

"Let me know what happens."

"Yeah," he muttered, ending the call and scowling at the thought of placing the next call. Of all things to have happen, when he barely had two weeks left with Brennan.

He stared at his cellphone for a long time before finally dialing the number. As he'd suspected, it went straight to voicemail.

"Hi, Bones," he began awkwardly. "I really don't want to tell you this over the phone, but you're not around and if you find out I went in without calling you, you'll karate me, or something. This morning when I was following up on that lead from Klarissa's college professor, I saw an elf who probably shouldn't have been hanging around behind a suspect making faces at me. I'm at the hospital, about to go in for an MRI. Call me when you get this."

He snapped the phone shut and unbuckled his seatbelt. All the way into the building he hoped the phone would ring, but it didn't. He filled out paperwork and waited in a room full of elderly individuals who looked like they should be resting on a couch somewhere surrounded by clamoring grandkids, rather than huddling in a lonely waiting room, hoping for good news to save the season. The phone didn't ring.

He spoke with the neurologist that Brennan had personally handpicked several years back and then waited some more while the concerned doctor shuffled him to the front of the line for the scan, on the basis that his symptoms might just as well be an aneurysm as they could be a recurrence of the brain tumor. No phone call.

Finally, he was summoned by the nurse, answered questions about his medical history that he'd already explained on the intake form, and found out that protocol had changed from last time and that he would actually have to put one of those ass-baring hospital gowns in order to have the MRI done. He turned the phone off and handed it over, but not before checking one last time for a message. Nothing.

Sliding headfirst into the MRI chamber was like being put in a coffin. Booth stared at the ceiling of the tube and thought about Brennan. He'd been through plenty of MRIs before she entered his life, but she was the first one to explain that the loud noise was caused by the rapid alteration of currents within the magnetic gradient coils. She even took the time to explain it in a way that sort of made sense, while he waited for that first brain scan several years ago.

The loud tapping, squeaking sounds started and Booth sighed. He closed his eyes and pictured her in that sexy housewarming blouse and skirt, then in nothing but her soft skin, standing in the firelight as they made love for the first time in their new house. He imagined holding out her hand to accept his carefully chosen ring, and for a change he didn't banish the image from his brain. If he was going to hallucinate things again, hallucinating Brennan accepting his marriage proposal was a sight better than hairy Will Ferrell in full elf-gear … he was watching her walk towards him in a simple off-the-shoulder gown that ruffled in the wind stirred up by Havasupai's churning falls when the clanging stopped and he found himself being slid back out into the examination room.

He knew the fluorescent lights would be painfully bright after so long in the dark and kept his eyes tightly shut for a few seconds after emerging from the tube. When he opened them, his hallucination was standing beside him still wearing her lab coat and looking decidedly grim.

He sat up before remembering the damn hospital gown. "Hey."

"Elves?" Brennan shrugged her coat off and draped it over his shoulders, affording him some dignity.

"It was just one elf." He reached for her hand and she slid her fingers into his.

"You should have had the museum page me."

"I'm glad you're here." He let her hear the concern that he'd hidden from Rebecca.

She stepped closer, so they were shoulder to shoulder. "If the results are less than favorable, I'll cancel my trip."

"No way." Booth frowned up at her in surprise. "I can't let you do that, Bones."

"It's not a matter of what you will or will not let me do," she replied coolly. "If you require brain surgery, I'm not going to Maluku, whatever your preference."

"Obviously, my preference is that you stay," Booth retorted, "But not because I'm seeing things again, Bones. This trip is important to you."

"You're important to me." Her hand tightened around his. "I wouldn't have gone if we were partners, and I certainly won't go now."

"You have to go," he insisted, even though it was the last thing he wanted her to do. He'd long ago accepted that part of being in love with her was making sure his dreams didn't do away with hers. She deserved better. "You'll always regret it if you don't."

"I'll always regret it if you're ill and I don't stay."

"Baby." Booth used the endearment that he normally only broke out in the bedroom these days, per her orders. "You've gotta go. Staying won't make a difference in what happens to me. The doctors already know the drill from last time. I'll be fine."

"My staying could very well make a difference, given my extensive medical knowledge." She had that look on her face that said arguing with her was going to be an uphill battle. "I don't want to discuss this any further until we've seen the results of your MRI, Booth."

He knew her too well. Even with her squint mode firmly in place to camouflage her concern, there was no hiding the fear in her eyes that someone she loved would be taken from her yet again.

Booth reached up and touched her cheek with his free hand, feeling the coat fall from his shoulders as he did. "I'm gonna be okay, Bones. Whatever the results say, it'll be okay."

"You suffered residual memory loss and considerable other side-effects last time," Brennan snapped. "It took a long time for you to be okay again, Booth."

"If I have the same dream again, I'll at least have more details to add to the bedroom scene," Booth teased, trying to draw her out.

She worried her lower lip and said nothing, choosing instead to cover him up again as they waited for the MRI technician to join them.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You're going," Booth said firmly, as they exited the neurologist's office.

"I'm staying," Brennan shot back, avoiding his attempt to grab her hand so they could walk together.

"Bones, I'm not having surgery." He caught up with her as she stalked toward the stairs, obviously not interested in waiting around for the elevator. "There's no need for you to stay."

She shoved the heavy door open and started down the stairs. "Your surgery has merely been delayed until the benign tumor is large enough to be safely operated on or a decision is made to use a laser to remove it in its present state."

"A laser would put my optical nerve in danger," he reminded her unnecessarily, stepping in front of her and refusing to let her take another step. "He said I'll be fine, Bones. We knew there was a chance the tumor would recur."

Brennan attempted to go around him and he grabbed her shoulders. "You're going to Maluku, Temperance. We have no idea how long it'll be before I need surgery. If you stay, you'll go crazy worrying, and drive me nuts too. The best thing you can do is go dig up monkey bones and try not to think too much about things."

"You can't be in the field while having hallucinations." Finally, Brennan's fear spilled over full force. Her face drained of color and she jabbed Booth's chest, venting her frustrations on him physically. "And if you insist on going in to work, I'm going to be beside you to ensure that you don't become distracted and wind up being shot as a result!"

"I won't be distracted now that I know what I'm seeing isn't real," he argued. "I survived in the field last time, Bones. So I'll be seeing elves and Smurfs while interrogating perps. Big deal. Sometimes those interviews can get boring. It'll liven things up."

"This isn't something you can do away with using humor," she cried, furiously blinking back tears that he knew she hated for him to see. "You don't seem to understand the severity of the circumstances, Booth."

The stairwell echoed with their raised voices.

"The tumor is in _my _head," he snapped. "I think I understand, Bones. Believe me. And I'd honestly rather wait for surgery than having them slicing away in there, potentially screwing things up even further than they already are."

"I need to stay." Her voice was husky. "I need to be with you right now, Booth."

"And I need you to go." His own voice was none too steady. "I can't let this thing take over my life, Bones. Who knows how many times it'll come back. I just have to keep moving. So do you. If I know you're doing something you love, I'll have an easier time dealing with things, baby." He brushed away the lone tear that she hadn't been able to hold back. "You have to go. It's the rational decision."

He saw the resignation on her face as she realized he was right. She stepped back from him, her face settling into a neutral expression that didn't fool him.

"Promise you'll tell me if things change."

He pulled her back into him, ignoring the fact that she was stiff as plywood in his arms. "Scout's honor."

"I'm angry at you for winning this argument."

"I know."

"If you fail to keep your promise, I will be extremely angry."

"I know."

She lifted her head and glared at him, letting him know she didn't appreciate what she viewed as his condescension. "If they decide to go ahead with the surgery, I _will _return, Booth, no matter how long I have left on the island."

"I know you will." He traced the rigid line of her jaw, keeping a tight lid on the little voice inside that was calling him seventeen kinds of an idiot for blowing the one chance he had at keeping her with him.

"I feel helpless," Brennan informed him. "I hate it. And don't say _I know_, Booth, or I'll sleep at my apartment."

"I know. You hate feeling like everything is spinning out of control," he replied in spite of her warning. "We've only got 13 days left together, Bones. Stay with me tonight."

Her body abruptly relaxed against his and she dropped her head to his chest. "I'm afraid."

"So am I," he said into her hair. "That's why I need you with me up until you get on that plane."

"My threat to move back into my apartment was hyperbolic," she admitted. "I have no desire to waste any of our remaining nights together by being angry."

Gently, he tilted her chin upwards so she could see the emotion pooled in his own eyes. "You want to spend the night at the house? Maybe make a few more memories, before we rent the place to strangers who have no idea what went on in front of the fireplace?"

"Yes." She kissed him, and didn't stop until a hospital resident attempted to inch by the couple and interrupted by clearing her throat awkwardly to let them know they were blocking the way.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_The clods of earth fell heavily upon her bare skin. Somehow she had gone from being entombed in a four-wall chamber fully clothed, to hanging in mid-air completely naked, as cold, hard earth rained down over her cringing body. _

_She tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth she swallowed a clump of mud and choked. Her eyes went wide as she struggled to breathe, coughing furiously, arms and legs flailing in an attempt to find purchase on nothing._

_Above the grave, she could see Booth shoveling mechanically. His shoulders were hunched as they worked rhythmically to scoop and shovel large spadefuls of dirt down toward her. She would have called his name, but the dirt in her throat obstructed the passage of air as much as it did words. Tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed down upon her. He looked so sad, even as he buried her alive. She wished she could comfort him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Brennan had the strange thought that she was glad it was his face she was looking into as she died. _

_Abruptly, her perspective changed. As though a camera had somehow taken over her recurring nightmare, Brennan watched the lens pan away from Booth's face to a spot behind him that had previously been impossible for her to see. Shock hit her like a rush of adrenaline, even as the camera returned to his face. This time she saw it in his eyes. He didn't know that she knew. That's why he was crying. Brennan opened her mouth and screamed, in spite of the obstruction to her trachea. She had to tell him. She couldn't die without letting him know …_

"**Booth!" **She jackknifed into a sitting position on her sleeping bag and gasped in air, then reached automatically for her partner's sleeping body beside her, only to find that he wasn't there. Brennan's arms flailed in the unfamiliar darkness of the new house, searching for him. "Booth!"

"Here." His tired voice drew her attention to the shadows cast by the dying firelight, where he stood cloaked in darkness. "I got up to stir the fire. Same dream again?"

"No." Brennan scrambled to her feet. "Yes!"

He didn't move as she hurried over to him, tripping on the tangle of their makeshift bed. Brennan pulled the fire poker from his hands and discarded it on the hearthstone with a loud clang. He looked at her curiously, his expression unchanged as she grabbed his hands.

"Booth, you're not the Grave Digger."

"Good to know." He sounded as sad as he looked in her dream. 

"You don't understand," she insisted. "You're not the Grave Digger, Booth."

"Okay." He nodded. "Does that mean we can go back to sleep now?"

Frustrated, she dropped his hands and slid her hands up his bare chest until they came to rest over his shoulders, where she dug her thumbs in hard, forcing him to bend slightly so she could look into his face.

"It wasn't you, Booth. It was never you," she said forcibly, hating the blank, guarded look on his face. "She was standing behind you making you bury me."

"Huh?" Booth stood rigidly, obviously confused and unsettled while trying his best to remain understanding of the dream that had continued to hurt him as much as it had frightened her. "You wanna run that by me again?"

She loved him so much in that moment, it rushed over like a wave.

"Heather Taffett. She was standing behind you with a gun. Your intention was to remain alive by obeying her, so you could overpower her and come back later to find me." Brennan wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself in close to him, so they were pressed bare skin to bare skin.

For a long moment, he continued to stare down at her blankly, not understanding.

"You were crying because you loved me, but you couldn't find another way. You thought I didn't understand." She spoke fiercely, needing to get past the shield he'd thrown up between them. "You were burying me alive to save me, Booth."

Abruptly, Booth's expression went from frozen to crumpled. He dropped his head to her shoulder and she could feel his throat working to hold back emotion. When he finally spoke, his voice was so raw that it made her eyes sting as she finally realized how much he had been hiding in order to keep her from feeling guilty about something she couldn't control.

"Bones. Thank you."

"No," Brennan objected immediately. "Why are you thanking me? You were the one who saved me. "

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, then tighter still. "Sweets would have a field day with all this. Bones, I think maybe we just saved each other."

She might have had something to say in reply, but his mouth was on hers and it was suddenly much more important to concentrate on his hands sliding over her skin, his tongue teasing her lips, and the tender whispers which she knew she would carry with her across the ocean in a few short days.

_Sweet, sexy squint. You keep me sane by driving me crazy. God, I love you, Bones. Ah, baby …_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: See? ****They're not breaking up. There's no S.O. coming between them, only a few miles. And I promise, the temporary separation (no, it won't last the full six months) will only do good things for their relationship. **

**I thought long and hard about Booth's reaction to Brennan's bombshell and finally decided that he would be accepting, rather than fighting it. In my mind, acceptance takes more love than demanding that she change her entire way of being for him, and I really do believe he loves her enough to put aside his own feelings and let her chase her dream. And, in turn, she falls even more in love with him.**

**Next chapter: She leaves. And, in the same chapter, she returns. Brennan has a few more reasons to reconsider her views on marriage. Then there's a certain parking lot scene that's due to take place … **


	75. Flight Patterns

**You might as well know from the get-go: In spite of what I previously said, she doesn't come back in this chapter. She doesn't come back because she doesn't leave until the very last page. I've had little time to write the last week, so I didn't get a chance to finish the remainder of the chapter as I'd originally intended. The continuous extending of the story is not intentional. Life is busy and I simply haven't had time to write the full chapters the way I'd originally organized things in my outline. I don't foresee another extension beyond Ch. 77 (the planned epilogue), but can't promise anything. **

**I highly recommend listening to Steve Azar's **_**Sunshine **_**before reading the chapter, or at least having it ready to play by the time Booth gives Brennan his musical Christmas present. The whole chapter is kind of soundtracked by the song. Great Big Sea's **_**Boston & St. John's **_**isn't in the actual story, but is also very much a song I kept in mind while writing their last moments together.**

**Thank you ****so much ****to those readers who are still faithfully reading and reviewing. I would love to hear how you liked this chapter, given that it is very different from the way the actual show played out her departure.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Dr. Saroyan?" Brennan tapped lightly on the door.

Cam looked up from the file she'd been reviewing. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a theory about one the few leads we've had on the case so far and wanted to check it against evidence we've managed to corroborate. My hypothesis proved inconclusive."

"Mine too." Cam lifted the increasingly dog-eared case file as proof. "All I can come up with is that the bones were physically pulled apart, maybe by rope."

"We haven't found any traces of robe fibers, nor is there sufficient damage to the epiphyses to conclude that was the manner of the skeleton's disarticulation."

"My thoughts exactly. Small comfort to know that she was at least long dead before being turned into a jigsaw puzzle, even though we're still not even positive about how she died." Cam sighed. "Neither one of us is going to solve this case tonight. Go home, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan stepped into the office uninvited and moved to stand in front of Cam's desk. "I lack Booth's insight into people's emotions. However, your voice inflection and overall demeanor in recent days has given me the impression that you are angry with me."

Cam's eyebrows drew together and she sat back in her chair, hands gripping the arm rests. She looked at her desk, took a deep breath, and let it out. "I am."

"I don't understand why." Brennan slid her own hands into her lab coat pockets to hide her uncharacteristically nervous fidgeting.

"I find that hard to believe." She raised her eyebrows.

"Based on when your behavior toward me began to change, my assumption is that you're angry about my six month sabbatical to Maluku."

"Well-reasoned. And correct."

"Why? You approved my request for leave, and the work I will be doing in the field is directly in line with the goals of the Jeffersonian. I will have firsthand knowledge of any discoveries made, and as my employer the Jeffersonian will get credit in any research publications resulting from the dig."

"The museum." Cam's voice was flat, mirroring her expression. Brennan struggled to pick up some kind of social cue she could build on to continue the conversation. "You don't just work for the museum, Dr. Brennan. You work for the Jeffersonian Institute's Forensic Sciences Department, specifically its Medico-Legal Lab."

"I'm aware of those facts," Brennan replied, confused. "The lab will also benefit from the new techniques and information I will bring back."

"And while you're overseas learning those new techniques, what are the rest of us supposed to do with our outdated ways of operating?" Cam asked. "We have a good thing here, Dr. Brennan. I give you full credit for assembling an array of extremely talented individuals before I arrived on board, and your team's devotion to you is legendary."

"It's your team," Brennan corrected. "We work for you."

Cam leaned her elbows on the desk and hunched her shoulders. "We both know that's not true. From the very beginning it was made clear to me that if you went, everybody else did too. Hodgins, Angela, Booth, even the interns. They work 18 hours shifts for you, Dr. Brennan. Not me. They spend holidays on call and weekends working knee-deep in puddles of human effluences, sifting through bone fragments because that's what you do. You hold yourself to an extremely high standard and your team will offer up nothing less than the same to their graven idol."

"I dislike the religious connotation that 'idol' implies," Brennan objected. "My coworkers don't worship me, nor do they work overtime for the purposes of my approval. They work long hours to catch criminals who would otherwise go unpunished for attempting to erase people's identities."

"All true. And you're the leader of that band of crime fighters, Temperance."

Brennan shifted uncomfortably at the use of her first name. "I still don't understand what this has to do with my sabbatical."

Cam shuffled through a neat stack of paperwork to her right and extracted a document. She held it out. "Does that help?"

Brennan scanned the letter. "I was aware that Angela would be requesting maternity leave to coincide with my departure. I did attempt to dissuade her from going. She and Hodgins want to take a final trip to Paris before they become parents."

"Six months maternity and paternity leave." Cam raised both eyebrows. "Must be nice to be so indispensable."

"I don't know what that means."

"You're expecting to come back from Maluku and just step right back into your old role. Correct?"

Increasingly, Brennan was starting to feel as though she was walking into a trap. "When you agreed to authorize my sabbatical, you assured me that my position was secure."

"Like I had any choice." Cam's voice was hard. "If you come back, the others do too. If not, I'm left without a team permanently, instead of just for six months. By the same token, if I don't allow Angela and Hodgins their requested time off and then rehire them, it's not a stretch to assume that you will seek work elsewhere, even if your position remains open as promised. Any other museum in the city would trade in its eyeteeth for a chance to hire you away. You come and go as you please, Dr. Brennan, with no consequences. The entire world revolves around you and your team and your loyalty to one other. Somehow, even though I'm supposed to be the boss around here, I've been completely cut out of the equation."

Maybe it was all the time she'd spent with Booth—or maybe it was her own nascent emotional acuity finally putting out a few feelers—that led to Brennan reading deep hurt on Cam's face. She sat down in a chair and folded her hands in front of her, fumbling for words to go with her new awareness.

"My intent in taking the job in Maluku was not intended to give the impression that I was taking my position at the laboratory for granted," she said slowly. "I understand how that could have been the impression you received and, while my particular set of skills makes me an invaluable asset to the museum, if you prefer to seek out another forensic anthropologist to fill my position permanently, I will not contest the arrangement."

Cam rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Your position is secure, Dr. Brennan. No other forensic anthropologist in the country can hold a candle to your work. I don't want to hire anybody new, anymore than I want to hire new staff to replace Hodgins and Angela. We have a great team. I'm just—I'm angry that team is being scattered to opposite corners of the earth because of your decision. What we've got—you don't find that just anywhere."

"I can't speak for Hodgins and Angela," Brennan said. "Nor can I argue for or against the choice they are making to take leave while I am also gone. However, I can tell you, Dr. Saroyan, that my desire to return to the Jeffersonian is in part due to your employment here."

The pathologist blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I don't want to work for another museum. Or another boss. While your intellect is not on par with mine or with Daniel Goodman's, you are an excellent forensic pathologist. I would rate your work with that of the top three pathologists in the country. Furthermore, your leadership skills are superior to my own."

"I lead deliberately, Dr. Brennan, as my job description requires. You lead by example, frequently unwittingly. It's been that way since I first got here, when you unknowingly fomented a rebellion amongst your coworkers who realized I was about to fire you."

Brennan leaned forward intently, using a metaphor that was appropriate to their work together. "The bones in a human body are often taken for granted by their owners until an incident occurs that fractures or otherwise damages the skeletal structure that holds the body upright on a daily basis. In similar fashion, the team has taken you for granted because we trust you'll always be there. I apologize for my own complacence."

Cam sat back in her chair, eyes widing with surprise. "That may be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

Relieved that she'd correctly weighed the emotional slant of things, Brennan continued, "My intention is to have children with Booth sometime in the next two or three years, and I won't be traveling as much. I would like to use one of my 'get out of jail free' cards to come back from Maluku and resume my responsibilities here, with the caveat that I will more thoroughly discuss any short-term sabbaticals with you. Would that be acceptable?"

"Yes. That would." Cam stood and extended her hand across the table. "Thank you for asking instead of telling me."

Brennan also stood and shook her hand firmly and the women exchanged small smiles. All was not resolved, but at least some small part of the rift between them could now begin to mend.

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Brennan. Thank you for my present."

"I didn't give—"

"Yes. You did. Now go home to Booth. You've only got a few days left with him."

On cue, Booth walked into the office looking distinctly annoyed. He was wearing his usual black overcoat, paired with a goofy-looking red and white scarf that Parker had given him. His face was red with the cold.

"Bones, you said fifteen minutes. What is it about this place that makes you forget how to tell time?" He stopped and eyed the two women uncertainly. "Everything okay in here?"

"We're fine, Seeley." Cam waved at Brennan. "Get her out of here before she notices something new on the Carlisle case and winds up spending Christmas Eve up to her nose in bone marrow."

"You also should go home," Brennan said. "Paperwork is no better than bone marrow."

"Five more minutes," Cam promised, ignoring Booth's derisive snort. "Merry Christmas, you two."

Brennan followed Booth out of the office, but not before exchanging another smile with her boss that made her partner frown nervously.

"Do I want to know what went down in there?"

They stopped by her own office and Brennan slid her arms into the coat that Booth held for her. "I'll tell you if you really want to know."

"That's okay," he said hastily, amusingly appalled at the notion of girl talk. "Would you hurry up buttoning that coat, Bones? We finally get some snow, and by the time we get outside it'll be probably be spring!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Why aren't we driving?" Brennan asked as they entered the Metro Station a few blocks from the museum.

"The roads are a mess. It'll take us longer to get there driving than it will walking or by subway." Booth swiped his SmarTrip card, went through the turnstile, and waited for her to join him on the other side. The station was eerily quiet, deserted of all its usual hustle and bustle save for a handful of travelers just making their way home after a party.

"Where is 'there'?" She pushed aside the metal bar and followed him to the Foggy Bottom platform.

Booth's answer was cut off by the loud rush of the train speeding into the station and whooshing to a halt in front of them. He put his hand on the door, just in case it decided to close on them, and waved her inside. Brennan moved to take a seat in the empty car right as the train started up again without warning. She jolted to the side and Booth caught her neatly against him, stepping in behind to brace her as the train picked up speed again.

"I guess customer service takes a hike after sundown." He held onto the overhead with one hand and pressed her against him with the other.

Brennan turned, lifting her own arm to grasp the passenger strap. She was wearing a long cherry red coat, paired with a black scarf and gray knit beanie that gave her an elfish appearance as she looked at him from beneath a fringe of slightly damp bangs. Her nose was mottled a Rudolph shade of red, contrasting with her extremely fair skin.

Booth locked his knees against the lurching twists and turns the Metro was taking and used the momentum to let her fall back against him naturally. "Did I mention there's another reason I wanted to avoid driving?"

Brennan played the part of the coy ingénue as adeptly as she played Roxie. She trailed her fingers up his jacket, letting them come to rest lightly beneath his scarf. "Enlighten me."

"I've never kissed you in a subway before." He rested his forehead against hers. "High time we fixed that, don't you think?"

"High time," she agreed, locking her fingers through the passenger strap alongside his as she closed the remaining millimeters between their lips.

Her mouth was cold from the moments they'd spent outside, but it didn't take more than two seconds for things to get heated. She teased him by refusing to open her mouth even the slightest bit, leaving him to do all the work. It took a few moments of pressing his lips repeatedly against hers in tiny, first-kiss-like pecks, brushing the underside of his lip over hers in a light caress, then tugging very gently at her lower lip with his teeth before she finally yielded with a soft laugh that was every bit as hot as her tongue's playful forward and retreat.

Booth would have been glad to ride the subway for the remainder of the evening, if he didn't have other even more pressing plans. When the train jolted to a stop, he swallowed a curse and relinquished his hold on Brennan, but not before pressing one last hard kiss on her that lasted long enough that the doors started to close again. She shrieked with laughter as they dove through the small opening, bumping their hips against the rubber sides to force the doors back open, tumbling onto the platform in a tangle of partially unwound scarves.

Booth scooped up the yards of fabric puddling at her feet and wrapped them around her neck, taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss his favorite spot at the base of her throat before Brennan pulled away to reciprocate by rearranging his own disheveled scarf. He settled her beanie back on her head, tugging it deliberately low so it almost covered her nose.

She smacked his hands away and pulled the hat into its proper place, fluffing her hair back from her face as she did. Now thoroughly staticky from contact with the wool, Brennan's fine auburn strands stuck out every which way. Booth chuckled as she tried to smooth them down. She punched his shoulder hard in retaliation.

"_Ow!" _He rubbed his arm as they walked by aggravated passengers who were attempting to nap while waiting for their own trains. "You have gotta learn to play nice, Bones."

She slid her arm through his, smirking. "You like me mean."

Unfortunately, he couldn't argue that point too stringently, especially not when she decided to play nice and kissed him sweetly. Then she promptly nipped him and scooted away, shouting gleefully as he gave chase down the narrow passageway.

They emerged onto the corner of Constitution Avenue and 20th Street, facing Constitution Gardens. The glint of moonlight over the lake and layers of snow softened the haunting effect of trees starkly denuded of their spring blossoms and foliage, reaching out their bare branches to frame the 56 Signers Memorial in bas relief. One lone evergreen had been given the star treatment by park employees, wreathed in red ribbons, twinkling lights and enormous golden spheres.

As Brennan continued walking ahead, momentarily unaware that Booth had stopped, he reached down and scooped up a handful of snow. He packed it sufficiently between his palms so that it would hold together, then let fly with true sniper aim. It thunked wetly between her shoulder blades.

Brennan gasped and whirled around.

"Gotcha!" he gloated.

He was reaching for another round of ammunition when Brennan's own handmade grenade exploded somewhere just south of his neck, showering pieces of snow and ice down his suddenly freezing spine. While he was swearing and trying to extract the remaining bits of snow from beneath his sweater, she landed another hit on his ear.

"Gotcha."

"Oh, yeah?" Booth threw himself belly first across the small park railing and came up firing.

Brennan threw up her hands to ward off the snow bullets and danced sideways into her own small piece of the park. She vanished behind a sizeable shrub and Booth waited suspiciously for her to emerge. When she didn't, he bided his time, assuming it was a trap. Sure enough, when she got impatient for him to come looking for her, she poked her head up and he landed a direct hit. She yelped and went flat on her face.

"Ha! Your hair makes a perfect target!" he yelled across the narrow stretch that separated them.

"So does your scarf." Brennan lobbed a frozen curveball at him that he just barely managed to avoid by scrambling to the right on his hands and knees. While he added to his cache of ammunition, she got daring and appeared just beyond his railing with a menacing round the size of a softball.

Booth barely had time to fire his own shot before she hit him with all she had, splattering her one bullet midway across his torso.

"Very good," he spluttered, swiping snow from his mouth and nose. "Only problem is, Bones, you just used your only weapon. And I've still got plenty."

Her eyes went wide as they fell on his neat pile of ammo, not in time to escape several wet splats to her thighs, arms and chin. Booth followed as she backed away, saving his last two bullets for when she was about to sneak back behind her shrub. As she ducked, he hit her with both snowballs, then launched himself at her.

Brennan screamed. He landed on top of her, careful to lever his weight so she wouldn't be hurt, but equally careful to make sure she couldn't escape.

"Looks like I just made an arrest," he grinned, shaking his head so snow rained down on her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. That was the only way she could have taken him offguard, Booth told himself later when he was nursing his wounded ego, but it sure worked. While he was instantly lost in her soft lips, she flipped them over so she was now triumphantly on top.

He retaliated by flipping her again, and they wrestled each other across several yards of slush, until snow was plastered so thickly through their hair and her clothes, they probably looked like refugees from the North Pole.

Brennan finally got the upper hand, firmly straddling his hips and planting herself across him so that Booth couldn't turn them without serious struggle.

"I win," she crowed.

"Okay, so you got me." Booth reached up and straightened her beanie, then brushed tiny crystals of ice off her long hair. "What do you plan to do with your prisoner?"

Brennan gave him a come-hither look that made him forget all about how cold his snow-saturated backside was. "I'm going to interrogate him, of course."

"Sure you can handle that, Bones? You know, you can get kind of blunt in that room sometimes. Sometimes you need to ease your way into—"

She smashed a snowball into his face.

Brennan scrambled up and raced away, slipping and sliding in her bid to get to safety before he was on his feet again. In spite of being frozen from head to toe and in awkward places in between, Booth couldn't help laughing as he picked himself up and brushed off the remains of her attack. Nearby, he could make out her silhouette behind a large boulder, watching him warily.

"I surrender," he called.

"I don't believe you," she yelled back, rightly suspicious of his intentions.

Booth stomped his shoes, trying futilely to extract crushed snow from in between his socks and the sodden soles. "I can't feel my toes, Bones. You know I hate wet feet. C'mon. Let's go get some hot chocolate at the diner."

"You're a very bad actor," Brennan informed him, not moving. "Of all people, I would be aware that you never stop until you get your target."

He shrugged, walking slowly in her direction. "You're right about that. It's just—you're bad at something too, Bones."

True to form, she frowned and ventured out in front of her only line of defense, arms crossed in front of her irately. "What am I bad at?"

"Thinking you're good at everything." Booth took advantage of her momentary confusion to grab her by the ends of her scarf and yank her in close to him, where he could cram a nicely loaded snowball down the back of her pants.

Brennan let out a cross between a squawk and a scream and jumped up and down in a sort of frantic shimmy that left Booth helpless with laughter against a nearby tree. He was still doubled over when she came at him, hell-bent on revenge.

"Easy, Bones," he soothed. "You know you don't want a dead partner."

"Perhaps not. But I wouldn't mind a cold, wet, frozen one." She waved a handful of snowballs and advanced on him threateningly.

"Whatdya say we call a truce?" he suggested, backing away. When that didn't work, he turned on the charm. "C'mon, Bones. I love you …"

All four of her snowballs hit their target squarely, leaving Brennan pumping her fist victoriously as Booth staggered around trying to breathe through nostrils that had suddenly become miniature ice caverns. He

sneezed, then held out his hands to show her he had no snowballs. "C'mere, Smurfette. I want to kiss you with snowflakes in your eyelashes."

"That's Hallmark verse." She inched her way over to him suspiciously.

"You liked it," he teased, crooking a finger. "Come on, Bones. Just a few more feet."

Either she wanted to stave off another attack or she was really desperate for a kiss. Either way, Booth didn't mind in the slightest as she suddenly went for the full movie cliché and jumped into his arms, her legs automatically winding around his waist, her lips descending on his demandingly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They took their time making their way towards the Lincoln Memorial, stopping to chase each other around a deserted playground, then somehow managing to make out even when they were sitting on two separate swings that were definitely not adult size. They made snow angels, or rather, she did, while he took a picture with his cellphone and informed her that the moment was eminently blackmail-worthy. He attempted to build a snowman, and wound up creating something that Brennan said resembled Australopithicus afarensis.

By the time they arrived at their favorite spot on the D.C. Mall, both were cold enough that they were having flashbacks to Canada. Nevertheless, neither expressed any desire to go home yet. They were both aware this would be the last time they'd sit in this particular spot and converse for a very long time.

Booth sat down on the top step of the softly illuminated Memorial and pulled her onto his knee.

Brennan burrowed into the warmth of his heavy coat, seeking out the rhythmic beat of his heart to rest her head against. They sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts, until Booth finally spoke.

"I got a visit from a recruiter this morning."

"An Army recruiter?"

"Yeah. They want me back in action, training soldiers for combat in Afghanistan."

Brennan lifted her head, her momentary peace vanishing. He'd been understanding of her need to take her trip. She couldn't extend the same courtesy to him. "You can't go."

"Funny how that's not what I said when you told me you were jetting off to Indonesia."

"You can't," she repeated. "Booth, your back. Your brain tumor. You no longer meet the physical requirements for combat."

"Thanks for the reminder of how old I'm getting."

"The Army should have reviewed your case files before recruiting you," she insisted. "In spite of your skills as a sniper, you would ultimately prove a liability to any unit you were assigned. There are no neurologists in Afghanistan to continue to monitor your condition. Furthermore, if you hallucinated or collapsed while carrying a heavy load and were caught under fire, your men would have to risk—"

"Ease up," he interrupted curtly, shooting her a warning look. "I know, Bones. Okay? I know. No need to remind me."

Brennan knew she'd offended his alpha male sensibilities, but the fear was like a live wire inside of her.

"So you didn't re-up?"

"No."

She let out her breath slowly, feeling the surge of adrenaline beginning to trickle away.

"I wasn't intentionally being offensive. I know that you would always place the safety of your unit above yours, Booth. That in itself merits a closer analysis of your deteriorating health and—"

"My health is not deteriorating," Booth snapped, nudging her off his knee and standing up. "Would you stop trying to make me 70 before I even turn 45?"

He jammed his hands into his pockets and stalked over to the left side of the portico. Brennan followed, unable to be unhappy at making him angry, so long as he correctly weighed the pros and cons of re-enlisting.

Booth leaned his shoulder against a Doric column and glared out at the Reflecting Pool. "I didn't turn down the offer because of my injuries. I did it because of Parker. And you."

She hovered a few feet away, hands in her own pockets for warmth. "I can understand that you would not want to leave Parker for an extended period of time. You're an excellent father. However, I don't understand what role I played in your ultimate decision. I won't even be here during the time I presume your new tour of duty would start."

"I'd be gone for at least a year, probably longer, what with training beforehand. I wouldn't be here when you got back."

Brennan stood beside him now, looking at him as he looked at the water. His jaw was tightly set, and she wasn't certain whether he was more angry at her, himself, or his body for seemingly betraying him.

"If you want to do anything else, Booth, anywhere, for however long, I will be as supportive as you have been of my own career ambitions, so long as you are not in a zone where there is the potential for active combat. I'm not naïve enough to believe that you would simply be training soldiers without joining them in the field, no matter what your contract stipulated."

"Bones, you're not gettin' it." He stared at the glowing white obelisk of the Washington Monument. "It's not about not leaving Parker. It's about not leaving either of you permanently. I know there's a chance of me getting hurt over there. Before, it didn't matter whether or not I made it back. Now it does."

She ventured a guess, based on her own conflicted feelings after receiving the letter. "You feel tied down."

"Not in the way you're thinking." Finally, he turned his head and looked at her. "You and Parker—it's the first time anything has ever held priority over my duty to my country."

For some reason, Brennan's eidetic memory flashed back to a report she'd once written in high school about King Edward VII's abdication of his throne to marry American divorcee Wallis Simpson. The King had chosen love over his duty to his country, and that had seemed highly irrational to teenage Brennan, not to mention selfish. The metaphor was entirely inappropriate, especially given the fact that Wallis Simpson was never crowned regent, but Brennan suddenly felt like a queen.

She opened her mouth and the first words that emerged were tired and clichéd, and nothing she would have expected to say at this stage of their relationship. And yet, they fit.

"You love me enough to let me go." Brennan suddenly caught a glimpse behind the veil of what the future might hold for them in 60 years. "You love me enough to stay."

"That's right." He brushed off her assessment casually. "Wanna go home? It won't take me long to get the fire going."

"Booth." She wanted to give him something of equal worth. "I'm beginning to find some reasons why it might be a good thing—It's possible—I can't promise, but when you ask in a few months' time. I'm considering—I—I might not say no."

She got the gift right. She knew it when he rocked back against the column, his jaw actually hanging open.

"Wow." His eyes shone like the lights illuminating the figure of Abraham Lincoln behind them. "Bones, you can't argue anymore that Santa doesn't exist. Christmas just came a couple hours early for me."

She laughed at the absurdity of his comment and took his gloved hand.

"I do want to go home now, Booth. A roaring fireplace sounds very appealing."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth watched her. They'd made love hours ago and she'd been sleeping ever since, obliviously taking up almost the entire unzipped sleeping bag, to the point where he was pushed out onto the carpet inch by inch. He gave up and moved a few feet away, unable to stop the gears in his mind from churning. Sure, she hadn't said she'd say yes. Nevertheless, her comment on the Lincoln Memorial steps might as well have been wrapped up in a big green package stamped HOPE. Sleep wasn't going to come anytime soon for him with that newfound awareness.

And then there were the hallucinations that he was keeping his mouth firmly shut about. They both knew he was having them and had come to an unspoken agreement not to talk about them, unless they suddenly drastically worsened. Nevertheless, watching Stewie chase Caesar around the living room made him edgy, and Brennan's peacefully sleeping figure was a welcome distraction.

So he watched her. Watched her breathing in and out evenly, except for the occasional snort. Watched her face relaxed and peaceful, other than when it scrunched up in obvious irritation at something not going to her liking in her dreams. Watched her eyelids flutter, her fingers occasionally clenching then unfolding again, her feet continuously kicking off the covers and scrunching up with cold, no matter how many times he tried to drape the blanket back over them. He watched her until light began to filter through the blinds of the large windows, creating long pale fingers on the carpet around them.

Finally, Booth unfolded himself from the floor, wincing as his bones snapped and popped when he got to his feet. Under the Christmas tree, Caesar slept on his back with all four feet stuck in the air, occasionally batting at a low-hanging Christmas ornament in his dreams. They were spending so much time at the new house that bringing him along had been a no-brainer. Either they seriously needed to just move a bed in, or they were going to have to spend several nights at one of their apartments in order to give Booth's back a break.

In the kitchen, Angela's bright, shiny new cappuccino maker sat on the counter, begging to be used. It was one of only a handful of presents they hadn't moved into Brennan's apartment, which Booth would keep an eye on while she was overseas. Booth took one look at all the buttons and decided that was stress he didn't need to inflict on himself on Christmas morning. He settled for brewing extra strong tea in a relatively simple to use electric kettle from Daisy.

With the water going, he first placed a call to Parker, then headed upstairs to set up Brennan's Christmas surprise. It was the kind of present that would get him a reputation as a sap if the guys at the Bureau ever found out about it. Just one more to add to Brennan's growing file of black-mailable moments. But after last night's moment on the Lincoln steps—what was it about them and steps anyway?—he didn't much care if word got out that Seeley Booth was going soft, if sentimental gestures like this one made her smile or gave her more reasons to think about 'not saying no.'

Satisfied that all was in order, he poured the tea into two mugs and went to wake Brennan. He would've kissed her awake, but her face was hard to reach, partially smushed as it was into the pillow. He nudged her shoulder.

"Bones."

It took several tries before she responded at all. When she did, it was only to grumble something unintelligible and to flop over onto her stomach. Booth finally had to peel the sleeping bag away so she could feel the chill of the room.

They'd agreed to go very low key on the presents this year, given the expense of the house and Brennan's upcoming trip. Neither needed much anyway. Seeing Brennan in her Christmas-y pyjamas and bare feet as she finally sat up and shoved the hair out of her face, her sharp blue eyes blinking sleepily, was all the present Booth could ever have hoped for.

"Merry Christmas." He leaned in for a kiss, only to have her jump up suddenly, leaving him pressing his lips to nothing and almost going nose-forward into the sleeping bags. "Hey!"

She vanished from the living room, followed by a worshipful Caesar, who apparently had high hopes of receiving another can of tuna in his Christmas stocking. Booth heard the sound of the door unlocking, followed by the sound of an unhappy cat as he was rerouted from his attempted escape into the snow. The door slammed shut.

Bemused, Booth got to his feet and went in search of his wayward partner. He nudged Caesar aside and opened the front door, shivering at the blast of cold air on his bare chest. Squinting to see through the haze of thickly falling snow, he spotted Brennan by her car. She'd driven them home the previous night.

"Bones!" he yelled. "You don't have a coat on!"

She turned and started back towards him, her red and green pyjamas standing out vividly against the white landscape. As she got closer, Booth could make out a large object clutched tightly to her chest.

"You're not even wearing any socks," he scolded as she hurried up the steps. The bare feet he'd been admiring earlier were haphazardly shoved into her tennis shoes. "You'll catch pneumonia."

They stepped inside, shooing an aggrieved Caesar away from the door.

"Pneumonia is caused by a virus which opportunistically attacks weakened immune systems." Brennan kicked off her shoes in the foyer and raked a hand through her hair, dislodging a shower of snowflakes. "My immune system isn't compromised, nor is there any infected person for me to contract the virus from. I'm in no danger." Her excited smile melted away his annoyance.

She held out the blue and silver present. "I kept it in the car so you wouldn't find it."

"Aw, Bones." He took it from her. "I thought you said we were going easy on the gifts."

"I did go easy." She grabbed her mug of tea from the kitchen counter and followed him into the living room.

Booth sat down on the floor, favoring his back. He turned the present over several times, looking for telltale signs of what it might be.

"Open it!" Brennan urged, looking like she wanted to rip the paper off herself.

He shook the present up and down, listening for hints.

"You won't be able to figure out what it is." Brennan leaned in, her hands cupped around her mug. "Open it!"

He gave up and finally ripped into the paper, tossing the bow over to Caesar for inspection.

"Whoa. Bones … is this …" Reverently, he lifted out the 8 x 10 Plexiglas plaque.

"It was cut from the actual glass used in Philadelphia's Spectrum Arena," she explained, like he didn't know that already. "My understanding is that though it is now in the promise of being demolished, the arena was once an important venue for hockey games."

"Not just hockey. Some of the most memorable moments in sports and music history happened at the Spectrum." He stared at the laser-engraved signatures of the 1974 and 1975 Stanley Cup's championship teams. "Dave Schultz, Bernie Parent … wow."

Brennan reached behind her and produced another wrapped present. "Now open this."

"Bones," he protested, eyes glued to the names of so many hockey legends. "This isn't going easy."

"It's part of the same gift. Open it."

She watched eagerly as he reluctantly set aside the plaque and took the second present from her. It was surprisingly heavy and he set it down on the carpet before starting to unwrap it. Booth peeled away the paper, revealing a black box engraved with a picture of Spectrum Arena. Inside it sat a gray brick, chipped and scratched, on a wooden base. It would've looked like every other brick, except that this one had a metal plate affixed to its front.

**1967 – 2009**

**An Official Spectrum Commemorative**

"They only started selling pieces of the demolished structure off two weeks ago. I wasn't sure it would arrive on time."

"Bones—" He ran his fingers across the dry, slightly crumbling edges. "This is unbelievable."

She looked at him hopefully. "I haven't celebrated Christmas in a long time, so I wasn't certain. You like it?"

"Like it?" Booth cleared his throat, but his voice still came out sounding gravelly. "You have no idea. Bones, my dad took me to see my first ever hockey game at the arena. I caught a puck and he actually stayed sober for a whole week after the game. I remember that even more than I remember seeing The Dead play at the Spectrum twice."

She smiled. "I'm glad that the present inadvertently proved meaningful in multiple ways. I thought you could place both in the television room, to show off to your male friends when they congregate to celebrate ritualistic televised sporting events."

"They'll swallow the remote," Booth muttered. "I can't top this."

"There's no need for you to top it."

"No, Bones." Some of his excitement faded as he reached for his coat and pulled out the box he'd carefully wrapped for her. "I mean, all I got for you was this."

She brushed off his apologies and tore open the paper, ending one of his enduring questions—would Temperance Brennan save the wrapping? The taupe-colored jewelry box she uncovered was emblazoned with _Memories of Pie Town_ written in gold script.

"Pie Town?" Brennan opened the box.

A large lapis lazuli was the focal point of the chunky pendant. Vividly blue, the gemstone also had cloudy swirls of white and thin veins of green. It anchored an interwoven silver netting, on which hung dark jade beads that almost looked like leaves. A tiny silver heart tied together the pendant and the braided silver necklace.

"The stone kind of reminded me of your eyes," Booth said awkwardly, feeling like scum for not realizing Brennan wouldn't know the meaning of 'go easy.'

"Booth, it's beautiful." Brennan lifted the necklace carefully from the box, tracing the leaf-like pattern. "Will you put it on me?"

"What, now?" He looked at her decidedly casual attire. "You're wearing pajamas."

She turned around and brushed her hair back from her neck. "Put it on."

Reluctantly, Booth made sure the necklace wasn't twisted so that it wouldn't pinch her skin, then fastened the lobster clasp. He couldn't hold back a scowl. "I thought we had a deal. If I'd known you were going to buy me pieces of the Spectrum, I would've come up with something a lot more creative."

She rolled her eyes slightly as she reached under the Christmas tree again. "You've given me more than enough over the last eight months, Booth. Your gift was very well chosen." She held up another present. "This is from Hodgins. He informed me that it was a gag."

Brennan went over to Booth's side and sat down. "Read the card first."

Putting aside his bad mood, he tore open the red envelope. He frowned and held the card up for Brennan's inspection. She raised her eyebrows. The front was a pen and ink print of a childlike zombie happily hanging bone fragments on a Christmas tree.

Booth opened the card. "_Since you guys thought I was the Gormogon at one point, I couldn't resist. Merry Christmas, Jack."_

More than a little nervously, Booth handed over the present for Brennan to open. She revealed a thin, cream-colored book with three zombies holding a Christmas carol book between them, underneath the title: It's Beginning to Look a Lot like Zombies: A Book of Zombie Christmas Carols.

Booth coughed. "I, uh, think the Bug Man has been spending too much time at the lab lately."

She ignored him and opened the book to a random page, then read aloud.

_Have Yourself a Medulla Oblongota_, sung to the tune of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_

_**Have yourself a medulla oblongata!**_

_**Let's eat something light.**_

_**Have you tried,**_

_**The hippocampus? It's out of sight!**_

_**Have yourself a medulla oblongata!**_

_**Make the Yuletide gray.**_

_**From now on,**_

_**We'll just eat frontal lobes all day.**_

"Okay," Booth interrupted. "That is just wrong. What's a medulla oblongata?"

Brennan let out a suspicious snicker that definitely didn't sound horrified. "It's the lower half of the brainstem." She kept reading.

_**Here we are as in undead days,**_

_**Happy golden days of gore.**_

_**Flesh and brains are what's dear to us,**_

_**So let's eat some up, once more.**_

"Stop!" Booth covered his ears. "Hodgins is gonna be a dad soon. Why does that suddenly scare me?"

_**Through the screams,**_

_**We all will eat together,**_

_**If the brains allow.**_

_**Hang a hypothalamus upon the highest bough …**_

_**And have yourself … a me-du-lla oblonga-ta now!**_

As she finished reading, Booth realized Brennan's shoulders were shaking. "Bones—are you—come on. You're _laughing?" _

"I find it quite amusing." She tried valiantly to contain her giggles, then gave up and just sat back and laughed while Booth fumed.

"Amusing? I think you need to go back to your squint dictionary for a better word. There is nothing amusing about twisting a traditional, time-honored song into something even the Bride of Frankenstein wouldn't recognize."

Brennan grabbed his face and kissed him. Booth tried to resist—some things were sacred, dammit!—but she was just too tempting, especially in playful mode. He folded like a house of cards, settling his hands on her hips and turning her body closer into his. Temperatures outside were below zero, but Brennan was soft and warm.

"Parker will probably like the book," he said grudgingly, in between kisses.

"He has a better sense of humor than you do," Brennan teased.

"Gorier," Booth corrected, nuzzling her neck. "Not better. He's an eleven-year-old boy. If it bleeds, farts, goes above 90 miles an hour, or makes girls scream, it's awesome."

"I'm quite certain that the blood/fart/ speed/scream developmental stage is not in any of Sweets' psychiatric manuals." She slid her hands under his shirt and onto his back.

"Sure it is," he argued. "Right between ghost stories and short-sheeting your brother's bed."

"Russ once placed an entire earthworm farm in my backpack."

Booth closed his eyes, afraid to ask. "I'm guessing you didn't react the way he'd hoped."

She shrugged. "I observed them for several months as part of a science experiment, then set them free in his bed. Russ didn't find it humorous."

He snorted, imagining the look on Brennan's face as she lay in bed in the adjacent room, listening to Russ's cursing. "Just don't tell Parker that one. He doesn't need anymore ideas."

Brennan grinned, her warm hands sliding up and down his bare skin. Booth groaned at the firm, steady pressure as it relieved the kinks in his spine.

"Would you like me to give you a massage? Sleeping on the floor has been inadvisable for your lumbar condition."

"A night in a bed would be good," he admitted. "I'll take a raincheck on that backrub, Bones. There's something upstairs waiting for you."

Abruptly, she pulled away and glared at him. "I don't want any more presents. Your desire to be competitive with gift-giving is proving quite irritating.

"It's not that kind of gift." He climbed to his feet. "C'mon."

She continued to look annoyed as they headed upstairs, to the room that would eventually become Brennan's study. The room was dark as they entered it, except for the rays of light filtering through the multiple stained glass windows. As the door shut behind them, it was like they had entered another world. Shadows of falling snow could be seen through the diamond-cut panes, and rainbows danced across the walls and antique desk, creating a spotlight of sorts as they converged in the middle of the wooden floor.

Brennan looked around, face going soft with wonder. "It's like being inside of a prism."

Booth wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing, so he was glad when she elaborated.

"I view the world through the lens of science, which I find beautiful, but others frequently see it as skewed or unfeeling. They don't understand that distortion—the refraction of words and theories—sometimes adds depth and dimension. It doesn't always need to be negative." Brennan held out her hand to touch a colorful beam of light, turning her palm this way and that, so colors glided over her skin in varying hues. "Like this."

Booth hated the sadness in her voice almost as much as he hated the awareness that sometimes in the past he had also fallen into the trap of thinking the same thing about her.

"There's nothing unfeeling about the way you see the world. Not everybody's as smart as you are, so sometimes they just can't go that deep." He hit play on the iPod docking station and speakers he'd set up earlier. "I didn't get you an amazing Christmas present, but I heard this song when I was looking for a musical valentine a couple days back. It has your name written all over it. Dance with me?"

The softly picked notes of an acoustic guitar began to play, pouring forth like the rays of a slowly rising sun. Brennan smiled and stepped into the circle of Booth's arms. He settled them low on her waist, pressing her in close to him. She wrapped one arm around his neck and the other about his shoulder.

_Your dark hair draped across my pillow, _

_Says I finally got it right. _

_And as I watch you dreaming, twisted in the sheets, _

_I can't stop thinking about last night_.

Brennan rested her chin on his shoulder and leaned her head against his.

_Well, I've waited so long, so long, so long, _

_For someone like you. _

_And as this morning breaks through the window pane, _

_It reveals the truth. _

Booth nudged her just enough so she would pull back and he could look into her eyes. Once again, he let down some of his shields and let her see inside of him, into places nobody else had ever been allowed access.

_Baby, you're my sunshine, first light, _

_Find your way to places that only know lies, _

_Failed tries and bruised skies ,_

_With hardly time to hold on or be strong, now I'm strong _

_'Cos like the dawn you push it all away …_

"Bones." He whispered her name for no reason, just because. Because she was here; her eyes were blue and smiling. Because it was Christmas and they were dancing. Because there was a cat irately stalking the hallway, a beaten up car in the garage, and snow piling ever more thickly on the front and back yards of the house they had just purchased together. Because she was leaving, but with the promise to come back to him.

_I tell ya, you're my sunshine _

_Everybody needs a little sunshine …_

He kissed her very softly and she tilted her head and kissed him back equally gently, in no hurry to do anything except share this moment. They kissed and swayed and swayed and kissed, not always in perfect rhythm. When she stepped on his toes sometimes they bumped noses, but it didn't make a difference. For all purposes, they were falling through rainbows, floating on air.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

New Year's had to have happened. Rationally, Brennan knew that she and Booth had celebrated the countdown with Hodgins and Angela at their mansion. There had been wine. Fireworks. A huge buffet spread, containing more food than even Booth could ever hope to eat. A long kiss at midnight, made all the more intimate with the awareness that this was the first year they had celebrated the holiday as one where they were stepping into the future as more than just partners.

So it had definitely happened, but, as she wandered around her apartment checking to see that all was in order, Brennan couldn't figure out when. Booth was loading the last of her bags into his SUV and would be back in just a minute. Where had all the days between Christmas and New Year's gone?

"Bones."

She turned and found him in her doorway. His jaw was stubbled, his hair mussed, his clothes rumpled and unchanged from the previous night where they had both resolutely refused to go to sleep. They'd outlasted both the sun and the moon, sitting in their spot at the diner talking until the usual morning customers started to arrive.

"It feels different this time." Brennan picked up a small vase from the table that Booth called her 'sacrificial altar.' She turned it slowly, following the gold and blue abstract pattern painted on it.

"What does?"

"Leaving." She put the vase down and traced the embossed edge of a silver tray she used to hold her mail. "When I come back—I won't really be coming back. It'll just be to move all of this into our new house."

"New home."

"They're synonymous."

He let go of the door weatherstrip he'd been leaning against with one hand and stepped inside. "A house is just a place where you store things. A home is where you store memories."

"This was my home, Booth," she said quietly. "It does have memories."

"I know." Booth stopped at the far end of the table, just beyond where she stood. "Are you having second thoughts? I mean—we have a house, but we can rent it out for as long you need."

"No." Brennan looked around one last time at the brick and concrete open layout loft. It was beautiful, in a severe sort of way. "I'm ready for something different. Something less … museum-y." She deliberately used his word and was glad when he smiled in response.

"Let's go." She picked up her purse and led the way to the door.

The ride to the airport was tense; everything that needed to be said having been said the previous night. Even though the diner's pie was far from the quality of the Pie Town recipe, Brennan had indulged Booth by sharing slice after slice, paired with speedily delivered refills of coffee which helped keep them going long after Natalie's shift ended and she came over to hug Brennan goodbye.

Traffic flowed all too smoothly, and before long they were entering the parking lot for Dulles International.

"So … are we gonna have the entire squint squad waiting for us inside?" Booth's question was too inflected for it not to be forcibly casual.

"Angela promised me she would keep everybody away. We said goodbye yesterday. She also has final preparations to make before leaving." The words felt syrup-thick in her mouth as she thought of the tears in her best friend's eyes. Booth and Angela were sad. Cam remained unhappy with her decision to leave. Hodgins was acting resolutely stoic, but was over-exaggerating his cheerfulness so much that even Brennan could pick up on the act. "I think I've … hurt her, Booth."

"You did," he replied simply, and she was glad for his honesty. "We're all a little hurt, Bones. That doesn't make your leaving wrong."

"Selfish?" she suggested.

"A little." He squeezed her knee. "But no more than Angela leaving Cam in the lurch by skipping out to Paris with Hodgins. Or us wanting you to stay."

Brennan pointed to a space in between two Dodge Minivans. "There's a spot."

He turned into the parking spot and killed the engine, leaving them in deafening silence. Reaching into the side pocket of the driver-side door, he pulled out a CD with a large sticky note covering the majority of the cover. "Two last valentines for you."

She found herself smiling in spite of the heaviness in her chest. Booth had taped a sticky note to the front of a white Bryan Adams' CD case: _More fodder for blackmail, I guess. _ On the back of the CD, he had circled two songs: **Right Here Waiting For You** and**I Finally Found Someone.**

"I have something for you too." Brennan dug into her purse and produced her own goodbye gift. "Don't look at it until after you get home."

He nodded stiffly, barely looking at her as he spoke. "Let's get your bags on a cart."

They unloaded her luggage with little conversation and made their way towards departure terminal, taking turns pushing the cart. Just before they reached the automatic doors, Brennan put her hand on Booth's arm, bringing him to a halt.

"No farther. I can't—this is as far as you can go, Booth. I can't walk up to the ticket counter with you watching me, or go through security knowing you're somewhere in the crowd, waving goodbye."

"Okay." Booth's jaw clenched as he struggled to hold back emotions she knew he wouldn't want everybody else to see. "How do we do this?"

She wanted to say the same way they always had—a quick hug and then walk away—but nothing was the same. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him and hung on tight. He enveloped her against his hard chest, and she could feel his heart beating at an accelerated rate. Her eyes misted over.

"Ask me to stay."

He buried his face in her neck. "I can't."

"Don't be angry with me," she whispered.

"I'm not." Booth's voice was hoarse. "Just promise you won't fall in love with some Indonesian squint and never come back to me."

"I won't."

"I don't know what to say." He pulled back to look into her face with reddened eyes. "I need a little help here, Bones."

She slid her hands into his hair and brought her mouth to his. They kissed frantically, with none of the tender, slow intimacy of when they'd finally arrived back at her apartment in the early hours of the morning and made love one last time. Her nails dug into his scalp and she kissed him harder and harder, forcing the tears back.

He was the one who ended it, breaking away from her with an audible gasp. "I gotta go, Bones. If not—" He choked and shook his head. "I gotta go."

Brennan nodded, feeling a tear finally slide down her face. Booth reached out and wiped it away, smiling at her with a glint of moisture in his own dark eyes.

"Go dig up empirical evidence of our connection with Tarzan, Smurfette."

"I love you."

"Thanks for saying it first." His fingers lingered against her cheek, tracing her jawline. "I love you. Call me when you get there, baby."

"We're not making love," she protested weakly.

"Yeah, Bones," he said softly, leaning down to brush his lips across her cheek. "We are." He straightened and jammed his hands into his pockets. "See ya."

They'd agreed the previous night that they wouldn't say goodbye.

Brennan swallowed a knot the size of a ball of yarn in her throat. "Six months."

"180 days." He grabbed her swiftly and kissed her one last time. "No looking back, Temperance. No feeling guilty."

She grasped the handle of the cart. "Au revoir."

"I thought we weren't—"

"It translates literally as 'till we meet again."

"I'll get a French dictionary to add to my growing collection." He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "Te iubesc."

Brennan turned away, pushing the cart into the terminal. As promised, she didn't look back, not as she checked in, not as she went through security, not as she waited for her flight, and not as she boarded the plane and took a seat.

She stowed her carry-on and settled into her window seat, then unfolded the short note he'd slipped into her pocket as they kissed goodbye.

_Remember the first song I ever gave you? Listen to it again. I'm gonna miss you like crazy. Love, Steve._

_PS: Both new Bryan Adams' songs are loaded on your iPod. _

Brennan pulled out her iPod and scrolled down to her valentine playlist. She hit play and listened to the familiar soft mandolin and lyrics as the plane taxied onto the runaway.

_You got to leave me now, you got to go alone._

_You got to chase a dream, one that's all your own,_

_Before it slips away._

_When you're flyin' high, take my heart along._

_I'll be the harmony to every lonely song_

_That you learn to play._

The stewardess came around and had everybody turn off their electronic devices, but Booth's first valentine continued to play in Brennan's head as she finally lifted the blind and watched DC fall away when the wheels of the plane rose off the ground.

_When you're soarin' through the air,_

_I'll be your solid ground._

_Take every chance you dare,_

_I'll still be there _

_When you come back down._

Brennan realized they had somehow arrived back at the same place they'd originally started the whole experiment. Their first date had been skydiving—an exercise in learning to trust, he'd said. She was freefalling all over again, and he was still with her, albeit unseen.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: It's possible this got a little overly cheesy in some places. I couldn't help it. That last slow dance has been screaming to be written ever since I heard that song! =)**

**The goodbye scene may also seem kind of abrupt—please be aware it was intended to feel stilted and somewhat awkward and rushed. They don't know how to deal with it any other way, so they kind of stumble their way through things.**

**Needless to say, I don't own any of the songs used in the above chapter, nor do I own the Zombie Christmas Carol.**

**Part of my rationale for extending the story one chapter further is that I really wanted to take some time to explore Cam's reaction to Brennan leaving, which we barely saw in the show. And, I wanted to debunk the notion that Booth would go off into the wilds of Afghanistan, because I found that whole scenario ludicrous and contrived on so many different levels. **

**Next chapter: Maluku, a bird's eye view into them missing each other, marriage thoughts revisited, and the parking lot …**


	76. Absence makes the heart

**Okay. The chapter wound up being split, even though I would have preferred not to. 20,000 words is just too much to post in one fell swoop. I've finished writing the story, so now I **_**can **_**actually guarantee that there will be no more extensions. That said, I would appreciate feedback on how you want the last three pieces (76A, 76B, and the epilogue) posted. Would you prefer them A) all posted back-to-back over the course of a week, or B) should I continue with the weekly updates until I run out of chapters, to get you through at least part of the Christmas hiatus?**

**This is a ridiculously huge A/N, but it contains important Things To Know about 76: **

**It's mostly fluffy and is largely composed of letters between them. ****I realize this has been done many times before—this is just my take. As for the emails between the rest of the team members, and the phone conversations Booth and Brennan undoubtedly had whenever possible—those I'll leave to your imagination, as there's only so much I could fit in.**

**Also, for the record: There IS no actual one place called Maluku. It's possible you knew that already. I didn't, and spent quite a while trying to find an actual place, only to learn that **_**Maluku**_** refers to an entire province dotted with a thousand islands spread over almost 1.5 million sq km of the Moluccan Archipelago. The things I've learned in researching this story! =)**

**I really struggled with how to divide this chapter. Sorry to leave you with a mild cliff-hanger: I promise, it's not a harbinger of more angst. We're done with that. **

**My day count may be slightly off. I really don't do numbers.**

**Usually, I italicize all letters, but I've gotten constructive feedback from readers who say too many italics give them headaches, so I've limited myself to just a couple italicized places, namely her first letter to him. To distinguish letters from non-letters, I've used b-b-b-b-b, versus the usual o-o-o-o-o-o-o. **

**When my research turned up nothing concrete, I invented a date for Booth's birthday.**

**My profile page has a map of the island where I stationed Brennan, should you care to follow in her metaphorical footsteps.**

**Thank you so much to all those of you who kindly responded with "take your time" after my unexpected delayed posting this Thursday, as well as the many people who left kind, constructive feedback about 75.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Leaving the airport was painful, but contemplating going back to his place and finding it devoid of her presence was worse. Instead, Booth pulled into the deserted parking lot of the same playground that he and Brennan had chased each other around several nights back. He reached over to the empty passenger seat and picked up the envelope she had left for him. Opening the letter, he pulled out a piece of textured cream stationery covered in Brennan's precise, slanted handwriting.

_Dear Booth,_

_I promised you a letter written with my mother's fountain pen. Olfactory memory is quite strong in mammals. Even when dry, the ink has a slight aroma that makes me remember her._

He lifted the letter and sniffed at it. When he thought of Brennan writing, he usually imagined her typing away at her laptop, but there was something about the antique scent that brought her face vividly to his mind. Outward appearances notwithstanding, there remained a naïve, innocent quality about Brennan that had somehow managed to escape all the blows life had rained down on her. She got so excited about simple things like curling up in front of a fireplace with a good book and a mug of eggnog after playing in the snow … her know-it-all attitude and how she managed to somehow be prim and proper in her own weird, sexually liberated way … yes. Booth smiled slightly as he realized that, in spite of her otherwise thoroughly modern approach to life, there was a little bit of frontier town schoolmarm in Temperance Brennan. It would be suicide to tell her that, of course. But he could picture her sitting at the antique desk, writing out the letter longhand.

_Over the last six months, I've accumulated a great deal of sensory detail linked to you that had previously eluded me, which I will use to create a mental composite of you in the months that we are apart. For example, the sound of you shaving is now familiar and comforting to me in its association with daily routine. Not so much your humming, which can be quite atonal, but I've stood close enough on a number of occasions to hear the faint rasp of the blade across your skin. _

Booth stared out the window blankly for a long moment, thinking of his own associations with early morning Brennan. Rumpled, frizzy-haired and inevitably sexy with her random choices for pajamas—he pictured her shuffling around the apartment in the bunny slippers Angela had given her as a joke, which Brennan for some reason felt compelled to wear even though pairing her with bunnies was as absurd as pairing him with rabid geese.

_The snap of your work clothes as you shake them out briskly, routinely, before putting them on; your footsteps on my wooden floor; the jingle of your keys as you rattle them impatiently when you feel I'm dawdling. I will hear them in my memory as much as I will the irritating tapping of your poker chip against any available surface and the snap of your fingers when the conclusions of your gut line up with those of your brain. More than anything, I think, I will miss your laugh and multiple nicknames. It's safe to assume that no one on Maluku will call me 'baby' or 'Smurfette.'_

They better not, Booth thought jealously as he re-read that part of the letter again and thought about waking up to hear the familiar noise of her clattering around the kitchen, boiling water, making toast, booting up her laptop to check her email, all before stepping into the shower, where she liked to sing almost as loudly as she snored.

_You don't wear cologne, but the toothpaste and shaving cream you use create a distinct, crisp fragrance that I have come to associate with mornings. The lingering traces of your laundry detergent's aroma on your clothes and sheets are another strong association I will carry with me overseas. I'm also carrying one of your bedtime t-shirts, so that my memory doesn't have to reach quite so far in order to accurately recall what you smell like when pressed against me in bed._

_I wish that I had an equally accessible option to carry the feeling of your body with me. You have certain gestures you're fond of—stroking my cheek, tracing my lips with a fingertip, smoothing your hands up and down my back, burying your face in my neck, resting your chin on my head, rubbing your thumb across the back of my hand when our fingers are intertwined—that I am now very attached to, and will find hard to do without during our separation. In the same manner, I will miss anchoring myself with your biceps when we make love, or leaning back into your chest when you wrap your arms around me from behind by way of greeting. I will miss that spot that you call mine, where I rest my head when I'm in need of a temporary escape from the realities of the real world._

Booth's body tightened at the immediate sensory recollection. Having Brennan in his arms ranked up there with his top five favorite things of all time. The contrast of her reserved personality at work and her wholehearted enthusiasm for burrowing, sitting in his lap or spooning when they were alone only made it that much better. She only cuddled with him. And, alpha male propensities be damned, he liked it.

_There is a great deal more I will miss. In particular, I appreciate that I don't necessarily have to engage you in conversation at all times, even if we are in the same room at home. You may be watching something on TV, or on the phone with Parker, or planning your next hockey game, while I practice yoga. Or I may be writing, reading, or analyzing a particularly intricate bone fragment, while you make dinner. That comfortable silence between us means as much to me as our conversations. It will not be possible to sustain while on the phone._

That was also some of what he would also miss the most—everyday life moments, when there was no drama or huge case hanging over them, like when they'd stand shoulder to shoulder doing dishes, sometimes arguing about technique, other times just being comfortably quiet together. Sometimes he'd walk by her typing and touch her shoulder, and she'd reach up and touch his fingers lightly before wordlessly resuming her work. Or she'd be sitting against the couch reading, while he did something or other online, and she'd lean her head back against his knee, just for a second, and smile.

_I am finding it hard to put words on the page, given the distraction of the few remaining hours that we have together. Even though it has only been 35 minutes since we made love, and I know you're tired from several nights of little to no sleep, I think I will stop writing and wake you. I would like one more early morning conversation, when the world is quiet and no other responsibilities are incumbent upon us, other than being together._

_If you're reading this, presumably I've departed for Maluku. Remember me._

_Love,_

_Bones_

_Google Hyperbole and a Half Pie Vs. Cake. I think you will find it amusing._

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**January 10th**

**176 days**

Bones,

Haven't heard from you. Just checking to make sure you got in okay. By the way—I did some Googling. Maluku is apparently not a place. It's a chain of 1000 islands. Where in the world is Temperance Brennan?

Love,

Booth

(That website was dead right. Pie beats the pants off cake any day of the week.)

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 11****th**

**175 days**

Dear Booth,

Cake doesn't wear pants.

You are correct about Maluku not being one specific city or town. It's an archipelago, also known as the Moluccas. Early explorers such as Vasco Da Gama and Magellan referred to it as the Spice Islands, due to the prevalence of cloves and nutmeg.

Ambon is Maluku's most populated island, and is an important transportation hub, but my flight was routed through Babullah Airport in Ternate, where I arrived on the 9th as scheduled. The island is very small—29 square miles. As a point of reference, Rhode Island is 1200 square miles, so Ternate makes Sapphire look like Manhattan by comparison. The cone-shaped bulk of Mount Gamalama dominates the landscape. I hope to have some time at a later date to hike up to the crater of the volcano.

Immediately upon arriving, I was met by Richard Cavazos, the dig's Archaeozoologist. He was easy to distinguish from the crowd, not only because of his large welcome sign, which misspelled my name "Welcome Dr. Brenen." He was also very visible due to his long green hair and large ear gauges. In spite of his less than professional appearance, his knowledge of the islands served us well, as did his fluent Dutch. He arranged a seaplane for our ride to Misool, and from there we easily caught a boat to Bara, on Buru Island, where I am stationed. All in all, the trip from Ternate took about five hours.

I am now beginning to settle into my new quarters—in your terminology I suppose my tent would be a house, as it holds no memories for me yet. It's a large, permanent fixture with a cement floor, but can be disassembled as needed. Cellphone reception is extremely poor, so emails will have to serve as our primary method of communication until the dig moves to Seram Island, where a permanent laboratory has been established to begin more closely forensically analyze our findings. That will likely not be until late in April. In the meantime, my work will largely consist of overseeing the excavation and documenting anything found.

There are currently three of us here. We are still waiting for the remainder of the team to finish arriving and, in the meantime, there is little for me to do now that my belongings have been unpacked. As soon as I send this email, I will go explore some of the island with Batista, our Peruvian dig coordinator. Richard is more interested in getting to know Karen Anne, who is one of our Trench Supervisors. She's tall, blonde, and very aesthetically appealing. I suspect Angela would describe her personality as 'bubbly.'

Batista is here. I need to go.

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 12****th**

**174 days**

Hi Bones,

Thanks for letting me know you arrived in one piece. Out of curiosity, is Mount Ramalama Ding Dong still an active volcano? My Googling says it is. That wouldn't be one of the reasons your tents are easy to disassemble, right? Because of the prevalence of seismic activity and mudslides? You didn't mention that before leaving …

Bubbly can be annoying. I prefer dry and squinty. The question is—what does Batista prefer? And is **he** 'aesthetically appealing'? Just askin'.

Look up SpongeBob SquarePants birthday cakes.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 14****th**

**172 days**

Dear Booth,

Sponges are filter feeders. They do not eat cake. Nor do they wear pants.

Yes, Mount Gamalamais still active. However, its last eruption was in 1980, and I'm quite far removed from Ternate. The Maluku islands are at the meeting point of four geological plates and two continental blocks. As such, it is a very a geologically active region. The Project Coordinator will undoubtedly have taken this into account and will have arranged contingency plans. The strife caused by religious wars ended in 2001. You don't need to concern yourself with my safety.

I would agree that bubbly can be annoying. Karen Anne puts me in mind of Daisy, with a higher-pitched voice and a much more voluptuous body. She is very intent on immediately becoming friends with me. I've never found it necessary to make friends with my coworkers at dig sites. In fact, given the temporary nature of our work together, it would seem that forming intimate bonds would be a futile endeavor.

Batista seems to prefer 'dry and squinty.' He rarely spends any time with Richard or Karen Anne. He is very well proportioned and his facial structures are pleasingly symmetrical.

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 14****th **

Religious strife? Earthquakes? And Mount Ramalama hovering in the background of it all, simmering. That's just great. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me the island has a friendly population of venomous snakes. Do me a favor and check to make sure your Project Coordinator has those plans in good order.

How do you know there aren't any undiscovered sponges at the bottom of the ocean who walk around in pants and occasionally enjoy a slice of birthday cake?

Batista has good taste. He'd also better have good smarts. If he makes any moves on you, I'm assuming you'll clock him, in spite of his 'symmetrical facial features'?

~Booth

Play nice with the other squints. It won't hurt to make a few friends while you're off playing Indiana Jones. You've seen those movies, right?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 16****th**

**170 days**

The name of the volcano is Mount Gamalama.

Buru does have a thriving python population, but with proper precautions all members of the dig team should be able to co-exist peacefully with the reptiles. I've been in much more dangerous situations, Booth. So have you. Don't coddle me.

Batista has a watch. There is no need for me to clock him, nor is there any reason you should assume he will 'put the moves' on me. I appreciate having an eloquent, intelligent individual to explore the island with, while Richard and Karen Anne are otherwise occupied.

Karen Anne appears oblivious to my need for personal space. I want to maintain good relations with all my team members, but ground rules must be set. For example, I strongly dislike her entering my quarters without waiting to be invited in. For a forty year old woman who has been on multiple digs and has a strong reputation in her field, you would assume such basic courtesies would be second nature.

Hodgins assures me the existence of pants-wearing sealife with a penchant for birthday cake is as much a possibility as aliens living among us. Given that I've never seen extraterrestrials or sponges with square pants, I will refrain from belief until empirical evidence proves otherwise.

I've never seen Indiana Jones, but Angela has mentioned he wears a hat and cracks 'a mean whip' as well as being 'dead sexy,' which seems like an oxymoron to me.

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 17****th**

**169 days**

Hi Bones,

I'm glad Mount RAMALAMA is far away from you. Google **We Go Together**. Consider it another musical valentine.

I'm gonna worry. Just like you would have worried if I'd gone to Afghanistan. It comes with the turf. Even across the ocean, you're still my partner. Deal with it.

Ease up on Karen Anne, Bones. Sure, she shouldn't be walking into your tent unannounced, but you don't need to give her such a cold shoulder. Then again, if she got hypothermia maybe Batista would decide to take a turn warming her up instead of you.

Walking across the Jeffersonian gardens today, I thought of you skipping sideways to keep up with me on the very first case we ever worked together. Indy couldn't pull that off without looking like a chimp. You're dead sexy, even without the beaten up Fedora. (We're watching those movies as soon as you get home, by the way.)

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 18****th**

**168 days**

Booth,

The lyrics to your latest musical valentine don't make sense. What is a 'rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong'? Why would anyone want to be 'Remembered forever as shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom?'

I am attempting to act more amicably toward Karen Anne, as per your advice. This is triggering strong emotional reactions in her. She threw her arms around me today and squealed about something I did not understand. I was confused and uncomfortable.

All of our team is now here. There are fourteen of us who comprise the core of the group, plus our support team. Between us, we have 29 PhDs, 37 Masters Degrees, and a combined total of approximately 250 years in the field. I trust that this breadth of knowledge and concrete experience will serve us well in the months to come.

Angela and I also are emailing regularly. Lately, she has felt her baby kicking quite strongly at night. It keeps her from sleeping, but makes her happy. Hodgins apparently rubs Angela's back and feet and caters to her every pregnancy whim, including 3:00 a.m. cravings for avocado, mint ice cream, and beef lo mein, which he somehow manages to locate even while in Paris. Would you do the same for me?

Love,

Bones

I look forward to our next movie marathon. I'll supply the popcorn.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 19****th**

**167 days**

I've got my phone set to alert me whenever you email, so I ducked out in the middle of a meeting. This'll be quick. Are you kidding? If you want clam chowder and Pop Rocks with nacho cheese when you're pregnant, I'll go out in the middle of a blizzard to find them.

I love you like shoo-bop sha whadda whadda yippidy boom da boom.

Booth

How about a picture of the island? Or at least a description, so I can imagine your office?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan 22****nd**

**164 days**

Dear Booth,

I will take some pictures of the surrounding area and send them to you shortly.

Buru is shaped like an oval. Its highest point is Mount Kapalamadan, which is the first thing I see when I step out of my tent each morning. The island follows a smooth coastline for 81 miles east to west and 56 miles north to south. The only break to the island perimeter is the indentation of Kayeli Bay, which extends into the island approximately five miles. Namlea, the largest town on the island, is at the northern part of the bay's mouth.

I'm told that Buru is located at the boundary between the biogeographic zones of Australia and Asia. Its flora and fauna are unique and would be of great interest to Hodgins. I will be sending him photographs as often as I can.

The vast majority of the island is rainforest, but there are also quite a few rice plantations, as well as groves of cocoa, cloves, coffee and nutmeg in the north and maize, sweet potatoes and soybeans in the south, near me. There are an abundance of teak trees, and I was not aware that they produced large, fragrant white flowers. It is all very beautiful and different from other places I've worked.

I would much prefer that you not go out in any blizzards, whatever my pregnancy whims may be. What are Pop Rocks? The description of 'carbonated candy' that my brief research turned up did not answer my question. What is 'shoo-bop sha whadda whadda yippidy boom da boom?'

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan 23****rd**

**163 days**

What are Pop Rocks? Wow, have you missed out. Nothing I can explain without you in the same room with me. I'll have a bag waiting for you when you get off the plane. Come to think of it, kissing you while eating Pop Rocks could be really sweet.

Thanks for the travel guide description of where you live, Bones, but I was really hoping for something a little more personal. What does your tent look like? How far do you have to walk to get to the dig site? Where are the rest of your coworkers living? Is Batista next door?

Shoo-bop sha whadda whadda yippidy boom da boom means **crazy.**

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 24****th**

**162 days**

Dear Booth,

Since Pop Rocks are made of sugar, and kissing is metaphorically considered 'sweet,' that would make sense with both meanings of the word. Oh! A double meaning. That's very funny.

Work has now started in earnest, so my emails will regrettably be somewhat less frequent from here on out. The signal seems to be strongest in the morning, and, as you know, I start work early. I will try to write a little each night and save it, so as to mail it you in the morning before I leave. In brief, my 'office' and living quarters can be described as follows:

My tent: A bed, a desk, a dresser, a wash basin with a pitcher to dip water from the camp cistern. We don't have running water at the dig site, but other places on the island do. The bed is a simple and utilitarian cot. We would literally be on top of each other if you were here sharing the room with me. It's less than twin sized. It originally had wheels, which I removed after repeatedly waking up halfway across the room, apparently from tossing and turning in my sleep. My bedclothes would be familiar to you—they're the same sheets we slept on many times. I am currently not using a comforter. It's too hot.

On my dresser I have a selection of necklaces laid out, a hairbrush, and several photographs. One of the pictures is of us at the Arctic Circle. In one of her impromptu visits, Karen Anne got very excited to see it. She wanted to hear all the details of our trip and seemed quite interested in retracing our route until I told her about the bear.

My office: Step outside the tent and directly to the left is the cistern, which provides clean water for all camp purposes. We still boil it before drinking it. In front of the tent is a wide clearing, surrounded by tents on either side. Batista has the third tent to the right, beside the showering stall. There's an outhouse behind my tent, but that was a mistake in geographical positioning and I have successfully lobbied to have it moved downwind.

Beyond the clearing is a large swathe of rainforest that we have to walk through in order to get to the dig site, which is at the base of several small hills. It seems that a local family of domestic pigs, known as Buru babirusa, resides near the dig. They frequently arrive before we do, and the team has to take special precautions to avoid having them root around the trenches. They're quite tame, unlike wild boars, and look like miniature rhinoceroses.

We have several forensic tents set up throughout the compound, but the main one is just to the west of the dig, in another clearing. The majority of my day will be spent going back and forth between the dig site and the main tent, which Batista has nicknamed 'Command Central.'

Our kitchen and dining tent is a quarter of a mile beyond the dig, deliberately so. There are few mammals that are indigenous to the island, but a large population of bats is quite eager to inspect our food caches. When given the opportunity, they will fly inside tents or take advantage of any weakness to rip them open so as to get at a free meal. The parakeet-looking Buru Racket-tail is also in abundance on the island and is equally opportunistic. Thus, we avoid food near our living quarters as much as possible.

So if you say you are "Shoo-bop sha whadda whadda yippidy boom da boom" about me, it means you're besotted. Correct?

How are things going for you?

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 25****th**

**161 days**

Hi Bones,

Things are okay here. Those of us left behind, you know, we're hanging in. Cam is scrambling to hold down the squint-less fort. Your interns are getting a little squirrely without you or Angela around to ride herd on them. Daisy is doing her best "I'm the boss now that she's gone" impression, and that isn't going over so well with anybody except Sweets. The man is totally whipped.

Your temp, Genevieve Beltran, looks kind of like how you've described Karen Anne. She's good. But not as good as you. We're meeting later tonight to talk about the Carlisle case. As usual, we're working more than one murder at a time, but that one is really hanging over our heads at the moment. Since the bones were found in the Rose Garden, the Secret Service is having fit shits at still not having any answers.

Rebecca is officially engaged. It didn't happen over Christmas like she'd originally planned. Jason apparently didn't like all the snow and pulled the plug on his original ski lift proposal. Instead, he went for the old 'invite her to a play and have one of the actors propose during the monologue.' If you ask me, that's just weird right there, having some other guy asking your girlfriend for you. Anyway. Becca is already doing the bridezilla thing, and Parker seems to be taking things well. I'm supposed to have dinner with all three of them sometime this week.

Jared and Padme are in town for a couple of weeks, so we'll probably get together a few times, maybe to watch a game or something. Oh—and Sully is back again, and he's bugging me to shoot hoops. He thinks I'm an idiot for letting you go. He doesn't get that it was never my permission to give.

So I'm keeping busy. Not busy enough that you're not on my mind all damn day. Definitely yippidy boom da boom. I wouldn't mind sharing that tiny bed with you, even if we did send it rolling back and forth across the floor all night long.

You remember that picture I took of you making a snow angel? I taped it to the bathroom mirror, so you're almost the first thing I see when I wake up.

Okay. I'm gonna get a quick workout in before heading to the lab.

Don't forget to eat while you're putting in all those long hours. Wish I could send you some mi krob and some of my fries. It's weird not having anybody steal them off my plate. Gen's a health freak.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 29****th**

**157 days**

Dear Booth,

I wasn't aware that Daisy and Sweets enjoy bondage games. Interestingly, I find the thought disturbing though such sexual foreplay is part of a large subculture.

Please inform the interns that you are keeping me apprised of their activities and that if they are not performing as required, I will suggest that Cam rescind their invitations to join the program.

I'm glad that things are running smoothly for you in the wake of my departure. Give my congratulations to Rebecca. Regardless of my feelings about marriage, I would agree that having a surrogate proposal in lieu thereof a lover asking the question himself is quite strange. What is a bridezilla? It doesn't sound like a flattering term.

Sully is mistaken, as are you. It _was _your permission to give, at least in part. If you'd truly objected, I might have stayed, but you never forced that choice upon me. Thank you.

It's regrettable that we were not able to resolve the Carlisle case before I left. I hope that Dr. Beltran is able to uncover forensic evidence that Hodgins and I missed, though that would be highly unlikely. Are you meeting her at the diner?

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Jan. 30****th**

**156 days**

The diner's ours, Bones. I'm not having a meal or discussing a case there until you're back in that booth, sitting across from me. Gen and I meet at another place down the street, which serves lowfat, lowsalt, lowcarb everything. They might as well call it NoFlavor. She's worse than you are about the whole vegetarian thing. At least you didn't mind if I ate meat in front of you. How am I supposed to listen to my gut when it's constantly begging for something besides rabbit food?

A bridezilla is a bride-to-be who kind of goes psycho before a wedding. You know, with all the details and stuff. Rebecca already hired a wedding planner and is sending out questionnaires to her friends about what dress would look best on her body type. She even asked me. Ha! I feel sorry for Jason.

Don't go gettin' any ideas, Bones. Weddings can be whatever you make them. They don't have to be a zoo. You can get married in jeans, even if Angela will have my head for suggesting it. (Doesn't matter that she got married in a jail …) It's not about all the trappings. It's about two people making a commitment to stay in love and stay together, no matter how hard life sometimes get. It's not about the fairytale or the ever after—it's about the day-to-day. I'm already committed to you. You know it. I'd just like the chance to say it in front of our family and friends.

Love,

Booth

Oh—don't ever mention bondage and Sweets in the same sentence again, okay? 'Whipped' just means he does anything Daisy says. I seriously need brain bleach to get rid of that visual.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 2****nd**

**153 days**

Dear Booth,

That is a description of marriage that I had not heard before. I found it interesting and even appealing to view a wedding as more of a declaration of commitment, rather than a legal cementing of a relationship. Cementing makes me think of mobsters and concrete-encased feet. Don't read into that either way. I haven't made any decision yet.

If Dr. Beltran is so fond of health food, you should ask her to meet you at Sweetgreen on M Street. They essentially only serve salads, but I think you would like the selection better. Try the Guacamole Greens and the Balsamic Roasted White Potatoes. (Just down the street there is frequently a hot dog vendor, in case you're still hungry after your meeting.)

Work was muddy and not particularly productive today. Every time we shoveled out a spadeful of dirt, it seemed that more would seep into the trench. The rainforest soil is very soft and siltlike, which makes it pleasant to squelch bare feet in, but setting accurate depth markers is complicated by the fine texture. I'm having to use techniques I engineered while working in the Sahara Desert. It's ironic that procedures I developed to use on dry, arid sand are now being applied to loamy, moist earth.

Santiago Duran, our communications manager, is on his way over to see if he can get my wireless to work any better. Uploading pictures at present is so slow that it invariably freezes up my computer. While he works on my computer, I'll go pick up the mail that comes several times a week, along with other supplies, by seaplane.

Love,

Bones

Given that you do not do everything I say, presumably you are notwhipped?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 3****rd**

**152 days**

I love you! The Guac. Greens are good, but the hot dog was better! Gen couldn't even complain. I ate with my back turned and chewed mint gum afterwards, so she couldn't whine that I smelled of animal flesh.

~Booth

(No, I am definitely _not _whipped.)

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

**150 days**

Booth,

I wouldn't mind a mint gum kiss. Mint is refreshing and cool. The air here is cloying and thick with humidity. Several members of the team are planning on crossing the island to go swimming in the bay, and I might be joining them.

I have been gone exactly a month today.

Love,

Bones

If I produce one of Indiana Jones' whips, would the metaphor still not apply to you?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

I definitely wouldn't mind giving you that kiss, but I'm not sure it'd cool you down any. 150 more days. We may not make it home from the airport. Do those super executive frequent flyer clubs you're a member of offer private rooms?

I hope you decided to go swimming. What did you wear? Please don't say the strapless bikini. It wouldn't be fair to your male coworkers. Or me.

If you show up at the airport with a whip, I'll have to arrest you for carrying a weapon in a controlled area.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

I wore a black one piece. While it covered me completely, my male coworkers were undeniably aroused by both my appearance and Karen Anne's. She wore a pink monokini and I'm surprised it stayed on, and that our coworkers somehow managed not to drool visibly. I did not allow them to chase me around or throw me over their shoulders as you did, but the excursion was enjoyable anyway.

The Frequent Flyer clubs do not offer suites such as you are hoping for. However, if you really think we won't make it home, we can get a room at the airport hotel. I wouldn't mind.

Love,

Bones

Would the arrest involve handcuffs?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

I'd never even heard of a monokini. Doesn't look like it'd be much good for swimming in, but … wow. Any chance you can buy one when you get back? I'd love to take you back to our swimming hole and maybe wind up dipping skinnies.

This is torture. I think I'll go ahead and book that hotel room today—no handcuffs or whips allowed.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

Am I making you ka dinga da dinga dong?

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 5****th**

Completely.

~Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 14****th**

**141 days**

Our first Valentine's Day as a couple and I'm not with you. That really blows. I can't give you flowers or candy or do anything of the stuff a guy does for his girl on this day. All I can give you is this valentine.

_Smile _by Uncle Kracker

I love you, Bones. There's no better way to say it—no fancy Hallmark cards or chocolates. You make me smile, even from thousands of miles away.

Always,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 15****th**

**140 days**

Valentine's Day has always been meaningless to me in previous years. I dislike the notion that I am required to show a specific kind of affection on a specific day. I undoubtedly hurt several of my past lovers when they tried to shower me with gifts on February 14th and I rejected their efforts.

I much prefer a Musical Valentine's Day.

_Look Heart, No Hands _by Randy Travis

I wish you were here to dance with me again.

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 16****th**

**139 days**

I wish I were there to dance with you. Remind me to take you for a ride on the handlebars when you get back. We probably ought to try it somewhere with a lot of grass (and no geese.)

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 18****th**

**137 days**

Hi Bones,

My sources say there was a 'mild' earthquake in your area of the world. What the hell is a 'mild' earthquake? Let me know you're okay.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 20****th**

**135 days**

Okay. Now I'm hearing reports about mud slides in Leksula. That's on Buru Island, right? Drop me a line. I'm getting worried.

~Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 22****nd**

**133 days**

Mud slides and aftershocks and nothing in my inbox. If I don't hear from you in the next 48 hours, I'm gettin' on a plane. Where are you?

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 24****th**

**131 days**

Dear Booth,

I'm fine. I'm sorry you were worried. The unseasonable heavy rains did cause some flooding near the dig site so we had to temporarily evacuate, but nobody was hurt and our work was not significantly damaged. We spent several days in Namlea, on higher ground. I had no access to any kind of internet, hence my lack of communication.

I shared my room with Batista and James Thompson, another of our Trench Supervisors. They were good company during the long hours we were confined inside because of driving rain. We played cards and shared humorous stories of our previous dig experiences.

I regret that I couldn't email you on your birthday. I would like to have celebrated the day with you, and hope you spent it with Parker doing something you both find enjoyable.

Thank you for worrying. However, getting on a plane to chase me down, when you're not even certain of my whereabouts, would be counterproductive.

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 25****th**

**130 days**

I'd find you, Bones. I will always find you.

Your email was the best birthday present I could've gotten, even if it was late. Do me a favor and ask a local monkey to email me next time you're going to vanish off the face of the earth, okay?

Stay safe, Temperance. That's an order.

Love,

Booth

Parker says hi.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 26****th**

**129 days**

Dear Booth,

There are no monkeys on Bara. Given that this is an isolated island region, genetic dispersal requires the ability to fly or swim. As such, there is a scarcity of land mammals in the Moluccas, and a profusion of birds and insects.

Training a bat to send you a message would be time-consuming and futile. Even the farthest ranging species would not be able to reach you.

Please tell Parker I send my greetings. I have a four day weekend starting April 8th and will take some photographs of local wildlife then to send him.

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 27****th**

**127 days**

At least I don't have to worry about lions and tigers and bears in the jungle. I told him about your bat-messenger idea, and now Parker wants a pet bat. Much as Caesar would love a fuzzy, squeaky, flying toy, do you mind sending pictures of one of your evening visitors, along with some seriously squinty stuff about all the diseases they carry?

~Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Feb. 28****th**

**126 days**

Dear Booth,

I've attached a document on bats for Parker. It contains scientific information that he might find of interest. Bats have been known to spread rabies, but the number of documented cases is statistically small compared to the number of species that coexist harmlessly with humans. You'll have to find another way to convince him that bats are not ideal pets. The pictures of Buru babirusa that I have included may help sway his mind in another direction.

Today I had my first encounter with the Lisela tribe, which is thought to descend from the 18th century Kayeli people, a number of whose remains we have excavated. We returned these remains to the tribe, to be reburied according to their prescribed rituals. The contact was brief and amicable. Though my primary occupation for many years has been analyzing bones, my field is anthropology—the study of humanity. As such, observing the living can apport as much, or more, information than the dead. I hope to have further opportunities to observe the tribe.

One custom that Santiago, the one member of our team who has permanent residency in Buru, told me about might be of interest to you: Lisela weddings begin in a similar fashion to American weddings. The prospective groom requests permission from his future in-laws to marry the bride. If permission is given, the bride price of possums, tuna or wild pig is bartered, followed by a wedding on the doorstep of the bride's house. How many possums do you think I would be worth?

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**March 1st **

**127 days**

Bones,

I'm not touching your question with a ten foot pole, even if I think maybe you're joking. So the Lisela sell their women. That doesn't mean I'm out to buy you.

Thanks for the pictures. Now Parker wants a wild pig.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**March 3****rd**

**125 days**

Dear Booth,

I was joking.

Perhaps Parker would prefer a cockatoo? We have many varieties on the island.

Love,

Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**March 3****rd**

In that case—you're worth 75 possums, 300 lbs. of tuna and a couple dozen wild pigs. Just tell me where to get them.

I'm not showing Parker your bird picture. Caesar is fat enough. He doesn't need more snacks—and I don't need another litter box to clean!

~Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**March 4****th**

**124 days**

Booth,

That high a price would buy you fifty brides.

If Caesar is your primary concern in purchasing another pet for Parker, consider a cassowary. They exist only on Seram, and would be in no danger from a small housecat. He would be in danger from them. They have been known to disembowel men.

~Bones

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**March 5****th**

**123 days**

_Whoa_. That's like a turkey on steroids! It'd make one hell of a Thanksgiving dish. I'll pass thanks. Those claws remind me of our friendly Canadian grizzly.

No offense, Bones—I'll let the Lisela keep the other 49. One of you is as much as I can handle.

Love,

Booth

Parker has been bugging me to visit you ever since you told him about the bats. Now he's all about bringing home one of your Godzilla birds. He thinks you're the coolest thing since liquid nitrogen ice-cream (no pun intended.) I love that my kid loves you.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**March 27****th**

**100 days**

The emails flew fast and thick between them, keeping them connected across the many miles. Every couple of days, Booth would get the familiar alert and stop in his tracks to find out what was going on in Brennan's corner of the world. She was increasingly unhappy with the lack of any significant findings, and was arguing with dig coordinators in order to move the excavation further north, where she believed there was more potential for unearthing something of value.

He could hear the loneliness in many of her letters, even though she never said anything. The crew was apparently relatively young, made up of a few veterans in their forties and the rest in their early thirties except for 25-year -old Jessica, who had an IQ to rival Brennan's and a broken-hearted fiancé back home who had dumped her when she chose Maluku over their planned spring wedding.

Brennan, of course, tended to relate much better to older individuals than people in her own peer group. She didn't understand their constant gossip or the need to begin romantic liaisons that caused drama, when sexual liaisons without any expectations from either party would have sufficed. Booth knew Richard, Karen Anne and a handful of others had invited her to some of their late night parties, only to have her reject them in favor of emailing him or continuing her analysis of bone fragments. He couldn't explain to Brennan that this would make her seem less than friendly, especially given that she would've done the same thing back home.

Batista seemed to have become someone Brennan could lean on, which made Booth both happy and jealous. Brennan frequently took trips with him into the surrounding forest, and Booth couldn't help but foam at the mouth at not being the one walking under the canopy of green holding her hand, making sure she didn't trip over an exposed root or get attacked by a python.

She continued to send him musical valentines, some inimitably silly like only Brennan could be, and others so blatantly revealing that he was actually glad she wasn't around to see his less-than-macho reaction. He'd never expected the valentines to mushroom into an entirely alternate form of communication between them, but Brennan had latched onto their usefulness in expressing sentiments she couldn't comfortably verbalize, and Booth wasn't about to complain.

Her latest was Nickelback's _So Far Away_. It played in his head as Booth took his usual weekend jog near the Jeffersonian, where he was spending an inordinate amount of time helping Cam man the almost emptied squint fort. Brennan's temporary replacement was possibly even less of a people person than Brennan and Cam both were, and smoothing over the resulting bruised egos was becoming part of Booth's daily routine.

_This time, this place. _

_Misused, mistakes. _

_Too long, too late. _

_Who was I to make you wait? _

He jogged around the fountain and up the Jeffersonian steps, then back down again, making a loop around the large gardens.

_Just one chance. _

_Just one breath. _

_Just in case there's just one left. _

_'Cause you know, _

_you know, you know …_

Booth picked up the pace, pounding the short stretch of pavement towards the diner. As he approached, he was unable to keep from glancing in at the young couple occupying his and Brennan's table. The guy reached over and took the girl's hand. They smiled at each other, barely breaking eye contact when Natalie came by to take their order. She spotted Booth as he jogged by and smiled, understanding when he didn't come in. He couldn't. There would be no more diner pie until she was back on the right side of the ocean—and the table—again.

He turned toward the small park nearby where he could run laps. As he ran, the words kept pace with his stride.

_That I love you. _

_I have loved you all along. _

_And I miss you. _

_Been far away for far too long._

He clenched his fists at his sides and sprinted forward, his breath huffing out into the cold winter air, drifting away from him on a cloud of white mist.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**March 30th **

**97 days**

Brennan emerged from Command Central, shrugging her shoulders to dislodge some of the tension that had settled in them after hours of being bent over the bone fragments the team had unearthed several days earlier. Bara's relentless afternoon heat settled over her like an unwelcome blanket as she made her way back to the dig site, brushing aside large overhanging clove tree flowers and winding up covered by sticky white pollen in the process.

Teresa Alverne looked up from the trench she was hip-deep in and straightened, grimacing, as though Brennan's appearance was her cue to take a break. "Anything?"

"That depends on how you define anything." Brennan ladled herself a cup of water from the nearby bucket. It tasted brackish and already lukewarm, even though Batista had only just brought it over from the kitchen.

Teresa's slightly overweight build and graying, close-cropped curly hair made her seem almost matronly in comparison to the rest of the team's members. The Spanish woman was much more convivial than Brennan herself, but was equally un-inclined to engage in interpersonal drama. On extended digs where the population was made up of a disproportionate ratio of men to women there was far too much drama for Brennan's tolerance.

"The remains belong to a male, aged approximately 17." Brennan drained the remainder of the water and poured herself another cup, which she used to wash the pollen off her hands as much as possible. "Given the skeleton's facial features and the artifacts buried with him, it's possible he was a member of the Kayeli clan."

From her own trench a few feet away, Karen Anne shook her blonde hair back from her face and frowned. "The 18th century Kayeli clan?"

"That would correlate with the age I estimate the bones to be."

"Shit." Richard threw down his trowel and cursed. "This is going nowhere. A full set of interspecies hominid remains, they said. And what's the first thing we dig up after months of nada? An 18th century teenage prince."

"There is no evidence that the 17-year-old was a prince. We cannot even definitively say that he was a member of the Kayeli clan."

"The only thing definitive is that we ain't findin' nothin'," Jessica chimed in gloomily from her position by the sifter screen.

"Six months won't be long enough," Teresa commented pragmatically. "I've said it before. This expedition needs to be extended at least a year, and the perimeters should be shifted west. Even though the hominid remains were found here, it's possible they were visitors from a nearby island. Buru may well have been connected to Seram by a land bridge."

"I can't stay a year," Karen Anne retorted. She climbed out of her trench, scanned for snakes, and collapsed under a nearby tree. "Josh is already cheating on me. I know it."

"What is your evidence?" Brennan asked, moving to spell Jessica at the sifting basket.

Karen Anne shrugged. "I knew Josh wouldn't be faithful long before I married him."

"You mean because monogamous relationships run counter to basic human biological urges to disseminate genetic material."

"No, I mean because all men cheat. It's a fact."

Brennan carefully tilted the screen, watching the fine loam filter through the screen, leaving nothing behind in the way of pottery fragments or bone shards. "A fact is a piece of information presented as having objective reality based on repeated observations that have confirmed the question. Simply because you have observed many men to be unfaithful does not mean that all men are unfaithful. That is an erroneous generalization equivalent to saying that because one man does not cheat, no men will cheat."

"I thought you were against marriage." Karen Anne sounded slightly petulant. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Brennan added another layer of dirt to the screen and continued tilting it back and forth. "I would not say that I'm against it, nor do I have a 'side'. I simply disagree with the tradition of an archaic institute derived from the belief once held that women were possessions who had to be legally bound to a man in order to preserve his family name and estate, while they forfeited their own surnames and independence in order to escape patriarchal tyranny, gain protection, economic independence, and better social positioning.

"That is archaic," Teresa agreed, cutting into the conversation before Karen Anne had the chance to continue whining. "And also outdated evidence, Dr. Brennan. I'm surprised you haven't taken the time to collect more facts."

Stung by the reprimand of a woman whom she respected both as a scientist and an individual, Brennan disguised her feelings with a cool, "What facts are you referring to?"

"As an anthropologist, you would be aware that meaning is evolutionary in nature. Human beings assign connotations to traditions in order to suit the distinct needs of each era. Traditions eventually become amalgams whose implications are distinctly different from the point from which they first originated. Ergo, marriage was once seen as a protective institute, during a time period when women required guardianship from poverty and marauders. In another era, marriage became a step up on the social ladder at a time when women could find no other way to get a foothold on those slippery rungs." The Spaniard measured the depth of the grid she was constructing and began inserting depth markers. "In today's society where freedom is the current buzzword, anything seen as binding or lifelong carries the connotation of a ball and chain to some, and of hearts and flowers to others who have bought into Hollywood's incestuous relationship with Harlequin romance."

"All men cheat," Karen Anne insisted, clearly unhappy at being left out of the conversation. "You just have to accept it, or give up on marriage altogether."

"Weddings." Teresa began to tie off the sections of the grid she had carefully measured out. "You mean give up on weddings altogether, not marriage."

"What's the difference?"

Brennan had been about to ask the same question. She concentrated on slowly and evenly tilting the soil back and forth, searching for any telling forensic particulates.

"In my observation," Teresa said, "people who wed merely in order to receive societal recognition for their union are doomed to failure and infidelity."

Karen Anne sputtered in outrage. "Are you saying that I—"

"A wedding is for a day." Teresa cut in. "Marriage is for life. One takes money and fashion sense. The other takes courage and common sense."

Brennan abruptly realized that the rest of the dig crew had gone quiet. Even Richard, who was generally impossible to faze, was pretending that there was an invisible spider at his feet that he needed to trap before it bit him. Just emerged from the trees, Batista, Santiago and Project Coordinator Lawrence Givens stood awkwardly at the south end of the site, unsure what they had walked into. By the water bucket, Jessica was red in the face and looked like she was holding back tears.

Teresa paused her grid construction and calmly held up her bare, muddied left hand. "A ring would have gotten lost in a trench somewhere. It'll be 29 years for Neil and me in August. We've both wanted out plenty of times, and the door's wide open. Maybe that's what keeps us from walking through it—there aren't any padlocks on it. Neither one of us saw the license we signed as anything more than a contract for a lifetime partnership, from which we could both resign if it stopped working."

She tied off the last knot and nimbly climbed out of the trench, careful not to cave in the edges. "Your empirical evidence is Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan. Based on what you have told me, I would surmise that his belief in marriage is predicated on his own tradition of loyalty to those he loves, not ownership. The ties that already bind you to him are elastic. They'll stretch across the ocean and will eventually pull you back home again, but in between there's a lot of breathing space."

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 1st**

**95 days**

Hi Bones,

I'm going in for a scan today, and then I'll be out of town for three days at a conference. As soon as I get back and hear the results, I'll let you know.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 2****nd**

**94 days**

Booth,

I'll be waiting to hear the results. Remember our agreement. If the situation requires it, I can be back in D.C. in 72 hours.

Love,

Bones

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 3****rd**

**93 days**

Brennan pushed open the door to the shower stall. Most team members chose to dress inside the stall itself, but the space was too enclosed for her to dress comfortably. Plus, her tent was only a few feet away, and she had no qualms about walking across the clearing in only a towel and sandals. She was halfway to her tent, already feeling the cool refreshment of the shower ebb away, when she heard her name called.

"Temperance."

She turned toward Batista, finding him leaning out of his tent bare-chested, dressed in colorful board shorts that she had come to view as a 'lite' equivalent to Booth's gaudy ties. The Peruvian flashed her a broad smile, the enamel of his teeth seemingly made all the whiter by the contrast of his extremely dark skin. His curly, shoulder-length black hair was damp with sweat.

"Would you be interested in a swim?"

The dig coordinator's warm, generally level-headed disposition was not unlike Angela's. He'd gently coerced Brennan into letting down her guard enough that they now frequently shared dinner, while discussing the events of the day or things going on back home. Booth was noticeably unhappy about this development, but Brennan was comfortable enough with the state of their relationship at this stage to know that it was more jealousy than a lack of trust on Booth's part that made him complain so much. In the same manner, she was envious at all the time he was spending with Dr. Beltran, but knew the relationship to be nothing more than a professional liaison necessary for him to continue to discharge his FBI duties in the absence of Brennan's assistance.

"Maybe tomorrow," Brennan answered. "I don't feel like adding a layer of pollen and mud back on just yet."

Unlike Teresa, Batista had learned English late in life, and a heavy accent colored the spaces in between his consonants and vowels. "If the Buru gets me, you will regret not being there to save me," he warned, waggling his thick eyebrows comically before retreating into his tent.

Brennan rolled her eyes. The Buru was a mythical cave-dwelling crocodile who was purported to resemble a cross between a stegosaurus and a platypus. None of the myths Brennan had heard ever referenced the creature's consumption of human beings, but Batista liked to imagine there were dinosaurs living at the bottom of Kayeli Bay, existing side by side with giant pearls and the descendants of the Loch Ness Monster who guarded them.

She stepped into her tent and tossed her towel into her laundry basket, crawling under the thin sheets without a stitch of clothing on. Bara's sauna-like conditions had driven her to sleeping commando like Booth on most nights. She rolled onto her side, stretching her legs out and searching for any small square of cool fabric that might offer temporary relief before absorbing her body heat and becoming every bit as warm as outside.

Closing her eyes, she thought of Inuvik. Snow. Below zero temperatures. The necessity of a fireplace, rather than the onus of an unrelenting tropical sun. Her body gradually relaxed into the mattress and she drifted off to sleep. When the nightmare started, she was at some level aware that it was a nightmare, but her body was so leaden with sleep that she found it as hard to open her eyes as if she'd been buried beneath layers of earth.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**I just posted and am now getting PMs from readers who say FF is not letting them review the chapter for some reason. If you want to review and the system won't let you, please feel free to PM me with your comments. They really do mean a great deal to me, even though I won't be able to respond until after school lets out on the 17th.**


	77. Empirical Evidence

**Okay, folks. This is the build up to the grand finale. Next chapter is the end—parking spot 491 and all. I'm still editing details, hence the reason I'm not (yet) posting the various story pieces back to back as many of you have requested. Don't worry—like I said, the story isn't being extended anymore. I'm just smoothing over rough spots. So you've got two sections left after this: The end (around 6500 words, depending on how I pare it down) and the epilogue (which will be ****very ****short—less than 1500 words.) I'll post them as soon as I finish revising. That'll probably be a couple of days, at least. I can't give you an exact date on the next update, but it will be soon.**

**The vast majority of you have been incredibly supportive as I work hard to bring this literary ship into harbor safely, after sailing it over many a turbulent sea. I thank you for your kindness (and patience.) When you tell me something in the story has touched you or made you laugh, it makes my day. In the same manner, when you give me constructive suggestions and also forgive me for being long-winded or occasionally clichéd, I'm very grateful. Yes, there are definitely some moments in this chapter that are probably high on the cheese factor. To that, all I can say is—it makes me happy to see them in my mind that way. =) And I hold firmly to the belief that someday (however far away) we'll see the same on our TV screens. ****( I do remain spoiler free. ;)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Gray._

_The SI unit of energy for absorbed doses of ionizing radiation._

_The encoding method used to reduce bit change between adjacent values._

_Random noise subjected to a psychoacoustic equal loudness curve over a given range of frequencies, giving the listener the perception that it is equally loud at all frequencies._

_According to Angela, one of 254 tones available for use with HTML and CSS._

_According to Hodgins, when used in the plural a colloquial term employed to describe intelligent alien humanoids currently being kept from the public eye by Big Brother._

_Within the ICU room, gray walls seemed to drain everything within its confines of color. The yellow tiled floor—gray in its reflection of cold fluorescent lights. Medical equipment gave up its hues of taupe, white and shades of emergency room red in order to merge with the sterile scenery. The blue cabinet in the far corner—gray with age and faded paint. The light pink coverlet draped across the occupant of the bed—gray in its hopelessness of ever being used by someone who appreciated its attempt at cheer. The wires that ran from the wall to the bed to the person to the equipment and back to the wall again—all a confusing gray tangle. By virtue of the fact that she couldn't sit in them, even the maroon and beige visitors' chairs looked gray through the glass door where Brennan stood keeping her vigil. Only the blinking light of the heart monitor was a different hue—a shade of green that let Brennan know life still existed amongst the colors of the grave. _

_She pressed closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at Booth's face. It, too, was gray. Emotions that were distinctly not achromatic bubbled up inside her. "I should be in there with him." _

_Beside her, Booth's surgeon stated the unwelcome obvious. "Only immediate family is allowed access to ICU patients."_

"_His immediate family isn't here," Brennan argued. "His former girlfriend is out of town with their son, and it will likely take her at least 48 hours to get back to D.C. His brother is overseas. Rationally, I should be allowed to remain with him at least until they arrive."_

_Dr. Chen sighed. "I respect the bond you and your partner have, Dr. Brennan. On previous occasions, perhaps you were permitted to break our rules due to the nature of your work with the FBI. However, due to recent incidents, we are no longer allowed to make any exceptions. Our policies are structured first and foremost to take into account the well-being of our patients. Unfettered access for just anybody off the street is chaotic and not in keeping with best practices."_

"_I'm not just anybody off the street." Brennan's eyes remained glued to Booth, irrationally willing him to hear her thoughts and look at her. "He's my partner. We've worked together for six years. We've taken bullets for each other—he's saved my life—" her voice thickened and she stopped talking, overcome with frustration._

_The surgeon made the mistake of trying to pat Brennan on the shoulder and she pulled away angrily._

"_If you will not allow me inside, I will remain here at the door until his family arrives. If you attempt to remove me, I will utilize every legal contact I have in order to see that a cease and desist order is issued in your direction."_

_Dr. Chen frowned. "You realize that you have no lawful right to make decisions regarding his medical care. Should he take a turn for the worse—"_

"_His condition is stable," Brennan retorted, aware her tone was dangerously brittle. _

"_Should he take a turn for the worse," Dr. Chen repeated, "We will be legally bound to keep all pertinent medical details confidential, in order to protect Agent Booth's privacy."_

"_Agent Booth would want me to review your medical findings," Brennan said coldly. "While I am not a medical doctor, my extensive knowledge both of his case history and human physiology could prove helpful in developing a treatment plan most appropriate for his needs." _

_The surgeon's beeper went off. She lifted it and checked the number. "Once Agent Booth's family arrives, if they give their consent, you will be welcome to visit with him and to review his records. Excuse me. I need to answer this call." Dr. Chen nodded curtly and walked away. _

_Brennan pressed her hands to the glass door, feeling the cold seep into her from the above air conditioning vent. The respirator Booth was hooked up to wheezed loudly, keeping a grim, tedious concert with the beeping heart monitor. _

"_I __**am **__family," she whispered, wishing she could sit beside him and hold his hand. "There's more than one kind of family. It should count for something."_

She woke slowly from the nightmare, rising back to reality with the ugly feeling that somehow the gray had managed to follow her. As she lay in bed trying to rationalize away the lingering sadness, Brennan realized that she was really cold for the first time since arriving in Indonesia.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 6****th**

**91 days**

Bones,

I had to kill somebody today in the line of duty. Until the FBI finishes their investigation, I'm on paid leave—standard procedure, don't worry. I think I'll take Parker camping.

I'm getting the MRI results this afternoon. I'll try and call you before leaving the doctor's office, but if I can't get through, then I'll email you as soon as I get back from the trip.

Don't worry. I'm fine.

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 7****th**

**90 days**

Booth,

I'm sorry that you had to take another life. Undoubtedly, the circumstances warranted the extreme intervention you took. Nevertheless, I know you will be feeling considerable guilt as you go over the incident in your mind and try to decide whether or not there might have been a better alternative. I hope your camping trip with Parker provides a necessary distraction until the FBI clears you to return to duty.

Yesterday I had a nightmare for the first time since arriving in Maluku. The antagonist this time was a collective enemy. You had been hurt somehow and, due to our lack of a familial connection, the medical staff at Georgetown University Hospital would not allow me to be at your side in the ICU. I realize this was just a dream precipitated by your recent MRI, but when you were on the operating table after being shot by Pam, I was also denied access to you. In some ways, my previous nightmares have been less disturbing than this one.

I'm unhappy with having to wait longer for the MRI results.

Love,

Bones

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 9th**

**88 days**

A light tap on her tent door disturbed Brennan as she composed an email to Angela. "Come in."

Santiago stuck his head in her door, a crackling walkie talkie in his hand. "The mail plane is here, Dr. Brennan. Do you want to meet it?"

The dock for the seaplane was in Namlea. Brennan enjoyed driving most of the way, then circumventing the village and walking the last couple of miles through the lush rainforest as the sun began to set and the brutal heat of the day finally dissipated. She'd become the unofficial mail carrier for the group, using the time alone to regroup after long hours spent in the company of unrelentingly loud, opinionated individuals who were frustratingly less interested in discussing their work than in dissecting their coworkers' personal lives.

"I'll go." Brennan typed one last line to her heavily pregnant best friend and hit _send_.

She smeared on an additional layer of organic bug repellent, took her sunhat from its place on her dresser, and shouldered her CamelPak, after making sure she'd packed her first aid kit and her bathing suit. She was always careful to fill the three liter water bladder before each walk, even though there were sources of water all over the island and she carried a SteriPen to purify it.

Brennan closed her laptop and headed for the communal Land Rover, which Batista always kept in good working order. She checked to make sure the tank was full before starting the engine and guiding the vehicle onto the improvised road. The distance between the two towns was short, and before too long she was pulling into her usual parking spot under an enormous, gnarled nutmeg tree.

She located the dirt path that she always used, so as not to disturb the natural vegetation anymore than necessary, and started out a fast clip as she usually did on the way to the dock. On the way back, she would take her time and often stopped to photograph interesting species of flora and fauna that Hodgins would then excitedly attempt to identify via email. He repeatedly begged her to collect specimens, and she was still trying to convince him that she would not be allowed back into the United States with a cargo of what, to an untrained Customs Agent, would look like assorted bugs, slugs, beetles and butterflies.

The walk wasn't as peaceful as she usually found it. Typically, she could put aside her concerns about the success of the project or the increasing pull of Booth's 'elastic rubber band,' and concentrate instead on the unique ecosystem she was hiking through. Footprints in the soft mud and palm trees freshly stripped of leaves told her that members of the local Lisela tribe had probably been in the area searching for building materials with which to prepare their bamboo houses for the coming monsoon season. This time, however, even anthropological interests took a backseat to thoughts of home.

Angela and Hodgins had recently returned to D.C, deciding the City of Light was an ideal place for romance, but not the place to be when the urge to nest struck strongly. Per Angela's emails, Cam was very excited about the impending birth and had already committed herself to several weekends of shopping, which Brennan found herself irrationally jealous that she could not join in. She wished she could be there to help Angela with small things that she knew her friend would find meaningful, but that Hodgins would hate, such as decorating the nursery.

Zach was being moved to a different psychiatric facility, due to his continued 'personality conflicts' with the nurses on the ward. Brennan strongly regretted not being there to facilitate the transition for her former intern, and she missed her monthly visits with him.

Russ' daughter, Haley, was not doing well, and in spite of the medical care that Brennan had secured for her, Brennan felt considerable guilt at not being closer at hand to offer support to her brother, though there was little more that she could do no matter where in the world she was stationed.

Daniel Goodman was back in town for a series of lectures at the Jeffersonian. She was disappointed at not being able to catch up with her former boss, whom she had viewed as a sort of mentor.

As for Booth—Brennan had once told him that thinking of somebody "twenty-four-seven" was impossible, but her thoughts turned to him so often throughout the day that she was beginning to reconsider her original argument. He was the first thing she thought of in the morning, when her eyes landed on his photograph beside her alarm clock. When Batista occasionally stopped by with coffee, Brennan appreciated the thoughtfulness but couldn't help but notice that he never remembered how she liked it, even though Booth had picked up on her preference for black with two sugars within weeks of their initial partnering.

Given Brennan's ability to compartmentalize, thoughts of Booth weren't a distraction or a hindrance at work, but it was disconcerting to be so many months into the assignment and still have moments when she looked around and wondered why he wasn't nearby demanding that she take a break to eat, to rest, or just to be with him. At night, when compartmentalizing fell by the wayside in favor of a lonely longing for peace and quiet in the midst of all the loud music and conversation in the tents around her, Booth was still on her mind.

He understood her need for silence as much as he understood her occasional need to turn the volume up loud and dance. When she preferred to stay in the lab rather than going out, he wasn't offended, but nor did he always let her get away with it. Somehow, he managed to keep a balance of giving her space and being there whenever she needed him. Booth understood her in a manner that few people ever did.

In the early stages of the experiment, he'd given her a letter that Brennan's eidetic memory now called forth as she tramped through the rainforest thousands of miles away from the desk where he'd written it.

_My world is better with you in it. We can live without each other. We did for a long time. But why would we, now that we've figured out that you're the salt to my popcorn and I'm the butter on yours?_

All those months ago in that Idlewild hotel room where they'd both been covered in calamine lotion, Booth had been right: Popcorn wasn't any good unbuttered. He gave her life flavor she'd never even realized was missing.

Brennan was beginning to realize that, even though he was willing to let her chase her dreams without recrimination, those dreams might hold her a little closer to home from now on, or at least shorten the length of their next separation considerably. In the simplest and most complicated of ways, she missed him. He was the heart, she was the brain. She was the logic, he was the intuition. Having a better half finally made sense.

Her musings carried her all the way across the short tract of rainforest. She pushed aside the large, moist clove leaves and stepped into the bright sun, automatically shading her eyes in spite of her sunglasses. The plane had already departed and the bright red, waterproof mail catchment was sitting on the dock, but Brennan's infallible observation skills missed the container completely. All she saw was the person standing on the wooden pier, waving.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The hour or so Booth had been waiting felt longer than the endless flight across the ocean, when he'd watched one lousy movie after another, finally falling asleep about an hour before they landed at the tiny airport she'd described in her first letter. Then there was the boat trip, which left him green at the gills more because of the smell of goats mixed with some kind of food spice, followed by a final turbulent plane ride which deposited him on the shores of an Eden-like tropical paradise, complete with water the same color and clarity as the eyes of the woman he kept scanning the edges of the rainforest for.

He'd been torn between taking off on foot to meet her, following her emails' detailed descriptions of the route she frequently took to get the mail, and not being an idiot and getting so lost that he had to be rescued, thereby shortening their limited time together. Of course, if she wasn't the one to pick up the mail this time, he was going to have to do some fast talking to explain his presence at a restricted dig site. His badge didn't carry much weight in the tropics.

Finally, he saw the heavy foliage at the edge of the forest moving. His heart rate accelerated hopefully, then doubled as Brennan stepped out into the sunlight. She was wearing a familiar pair of waterproof hiking pants and a white tank top that highlighted her firm curves and dark tan. His core temperature—already raised by the hours of travel and time spent standing on the dock in Buru's psychopathic sun—shot all the way to the top of the thermometer and shattered the mercury.

Booth's mouth went dry with anticipation as he raised his arm in a wave. It was cheesy, but also the simplest, most restrained gesture he could come up with so as not to overwhelm her with an overt display of emotion.

She shaded her eyes even though she was wearing sunglasses, and stared across the short stretch of beach separating them. One second, two seconds … Booth counted down the moment until her eyes adjusted and she saw him. It registered in her body first, when she kind of took a step backwards in surprise. Then the smile started the way it always did, beginning at one corner of her lips and working its way across to the other, until she was grinning from ear to ear. Booth couldn't quite see it from the dock, but he knew she'd be biting her lower lip like she did when she got one of his jokes, and that her smile would have that slightly crooked tilt that had kept him awake at night, remembering. He'd missed that smile.

He started to call hello, but she was already walking towards him, and the realization that he'd be holding her again in about five seconds left him floundering for words. Her walk turned into a jog, which turned into a full-out run. Her backpack went one way, and her hat flew off close behind it. Booth braced himself knowing that, sweet as this was going to be, it was also going to hurt like hell.

The impact of her body against his, as she ran up the two short steps and straight into him, was hard enough to push Booth a step closer to the water, but he wouldn't have minded even if they did fall in. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged the breath out of him.

He'd missed her full-throttle embraces.

"Hey, beautiful," Booth laughed, thrilled at the success of his surprise. He ignored the thrum of pain in his shoulder and pulled her in close, closer, closest, as close as they could get without getting naked. They'd be that close_ very_ shortly, if he had anything to say about it.

"Why are you here?" She pulled back just enough look into his face, not separating their bodies more than half an inch.

"You can interrogate me in just a sec," he promised. "I'm not done saying hello yet." He would never be finished saying hello to Temperance Brennan.

Brennan grinned and angled her head, going in for the kiss as enthusiastically as she'd bear-hugged him.

He'd missed her lips. Their soft, full exterior, and the way they parted just a little, teasing him with the promise of the smooth, warm inside. The way they nibbled at his, tugging at his lower lip with a hint of aggression, and the slow glide of her tongue across his. The forward and retreat, the teasing flicks as he tickled the roof of her mouth, her forceful retaliation, the ridged surfaces of her teeth which he traced slowly … oh, yeah. Holy God, he had missed these lips.

He'd missed her touch, her taste, the strong, drawing warmth as their mouths sealed more closely together, and the way her breath was a little shallow and a lot accelerated as the heat between them rose steadily. Too steadily. After 24 hours of sleeping upright, Booth's back couldn't handle a full-on lovemaking session on a rock hard pier. Not to mention the sand and grit.

Then there was his injured shoulder, which was decidedly less happy with their tight embrace than the rest of his body. The growing throb warned him that the wound had re-opened. If the blood started soaking through his shirt and Brennan saw before he got a chance to explain …

Booth reluctantly eased up on the kiss, in spite of Brennan's frustrated attempt to keep things going. He buried his nose in her hair for a moment, while he got at least some kind of control over his desire. Her hair had a light, unfamiliar eucalyptus fragrance, mingled with traces of sun, sweat and … apple cider?

"Bones. Why do you smell like holiday punch in the middle of April?" he whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss to it as he did.

"Cloves and oranges ground into a paste." She lifted her head from where it had been resting on his chest and held her arm up to his nose so he got a good whiff. "It's a local insect repellent."

He'd missed her voice.

"Hmm. I don't have any." Booth nudged her glasses back. "Think if you rub yourself all over me, it might have the same effect?"

"It's doubtful." Brennan's tan sharpened the blue of her eyes to a fine point that speared right through Booth with a potent combination of happiness and mischief. "We can always test the theory with an experiment."

"Anything in the name of science," Booth quipped, lightly squeezing her biceps. The darkness of her usually fair skin heightened the definition of the muscles added to her already strong frame, probably from lifting all the heavy dig equipment. "Wow. Look at these guns. You look hot, Bones. Smokin' hot."

"You have also added muscle mass," she noted, eyeing his deltoids appreciatively.

That was one place he really didn't need her looking at too closely right now. Aiming to distract, he tucked her considerably sun-bleached hair behind her ears, his hands lingering at the sides of her neck. "Looks like you didn't miss me at all, huh," he teased.

"I missed you a great deal." She lapsed into squint mode, her eyes narrowing slightly. He'd missed that too. "Why are you here, Booth? Were the MRI results unfavorable?"

"The tumor is growing slowly," he answered. "I brought you the print-out to look at. No need for surgery yet. I just wanted to be with you." It was far from a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "The FBI is finishing up their investigation and I have a little time off ... I figured, why not spend it with my girl?"

"You said you were going camping with Parker," she reminded him.

"I said I was thinking of taking him camping," he corrected. "I never said when."

"You—you tricked me!" she exclaimed, thumping his shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn't the one that had recently taken the brunt of a blade. He struggled not to flinch anyway, well aware that her keen eyes would pick up on any sign of pain. "You worded the letter so I would believe the trip you were taking was with your son, while in actuality you were flying out to be with me!"

"Rebecca's got Parker down in Louisiana meeting all of Jason's relatives. I'm taking him camping in June." He was suddenly just a little worried. What if she viewed his unannounced visit as disruptive to her work? "I—uh—do you mind me just showing up like this, Bones? You said you had a couple days off of your own, but I don't want to interrupt you or anything."

Her smile returned and she kissed him again. "You're not interrupting."

He couldn't not kiss her back, even when he knew they really needed to talk. "Bones …"

Her lips brushed back and forth over his slowly, derailing his good intentions. "I'm very glad you're here, Booth, even though I regret the circumstances that led to your time off."

"Yeah …" He cleared his throat, wondering how to start this conversation. "About those circumstances, Bones."

"The sun will start sinking shortly, and the cloves are only partially effective," she interrupted, pulling away to retrieve his duffle bag. She held it out to him. "I'm not as fond of mosquitoes as Hodgins is. We should get to the hut."

"Hut?" Booth repeated, taking the bag from her. "What happened to your tent?"

Brennan walked down the steps and into the tall grass. "The tent is too far." She retrieved her CamelPak and hat and looked over at him with an innuendo-laced grin that brought his blood to a low simmer of desire. "It's also too close to my coworkers' quarters."

"I really missed you," Booth sighed, slinging his duffle bag across his good shoulder as he joined her on the sand. "So where's this hut?"

She stashed her hat in the top pocket of her backpack, along with the handful of mail from the red carrier, and settled it on her shoulders. "About 30 minutes away." Brennan directed a knowing glare at him that immediately turned his blood from hot to cold. "By then, you will most likely require a bandage change for your injury."

_Shit_.

"Bones—"

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" she asked, hands on her hips. "I'm very familiar with your body's movements, Booth. Even without a degree in Kinesiology or an awareness of your musculoskeleture, any observant person would notice that you're favoring one shoulder over the other."

Booth grimaced and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm an idiot for thinking I could hide it from you until we got to the tent. Can you blame me for wanting at least a shot at a hot makeout session before having you go all M.D. on me?"

"Yes, I blame you."

He winced. "Listen, Bones—"

"Is it a gunshot wound?" Brennan asked bluntly.

No point in insulting her intellect any further than he already had.

"It's a knife wound. The guy I took down—he got me before I got him."

"Is that why you're here?"

"I had tickets to come see you anyway." Thankfully, he at least had that much to say in his own defense. "You can look at the purchase date if you want empirical evidence. When you told me you had a few days off in April—it was just coincidence that I got hurt right around the same time."

For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something. Then she turned and started for the forest wordlessly.

Booth hurried after her. "Hey. Bones."

She ignored him and continued to cut a rapid swathe through the gently waving grass, ducking under the wide leaves overhanging the narrow dirt road that led into the rainforest

"Would you just wait a minute? Hold up, _Bones!"_ he yelled, picking up the pace and wrestling with the large leaves she'd slipped past so easily. Breaking through the dense canopy, he spied her just ahead and grabbed her arm. He spun her around, not caring if she took a swing at him.

"Bones, listen—" he trailed off, seeing the set of her jaw. It told him in no uncertain terms that he was walking a very thin line here between a happy weekend spent making love and exploring the island with her, or several miserable days trying to convince her of his good intentions.

"I made a mistake." He held onto her arm tightly, afraid she'd stalk away. "I should've told you right away. Okay? I screwed up big-time."

"Why didn't you tell me on the phone?" she demanded.

"We've barely had five conversations outside of email!" he protested. "C'mon, Bones. I should've told you earlier, okay. I didn't want to let you know by email that, yeah, some asshole roughed me up a little bit."

"Being stabbed is not a little bit," Brennan retorted, not giving an inch. "There are large blood vessels in the shoulder. You could have bled to death! And my embrace will only have exacerbated the injury."

This was so not what he'd hoped their first walk through the rainforest would be like. His version of things had a whole lot more sweet nothings and kisses under the green canopy she'd described so vividly.

"What was I supposed to do?" Booth asked, feeling familiar frustration well up within him. She drove him crazy in all the best and worst ways. "_Hey, Bones. Long time no see. You look incredible. By the way, watch the shoulder while you're hugging me, it's got a hole in it? _

"You didn't have to come," she snapped, her anger a poor mask for her fear. "It was the wrong decision."

"No, it wasn't," Booth retorted flatly. "Look at the way you're reacting with me standing in front of you. If I'd told you any other way, you would've freaked. I wanted you to see that I'm okay."

Abruptly, the fury in her face drained, replaced by weariness that was somehow worse. "Presumably, you didn't read my last email before departing D.C."

Booth frowned. "The last email I got was the one where you threatened to be back in 72 hours if the MRI results weren't good. I didn't want you to have the same reaction after hearing I'd been hurt."

"You would have reacted just as strongly." She folded her arms across her chest. "If you were overseas and I was injured, you would have been on the next plane to be with me, Booth."

"Yeah. And you'd be reacting the same way I am! You would've said that it was unnecessary and irrational."

"It would have been, given that you have no medical background." she replied, infuriatingly logical as always. "There would have been nothing that you could do for me. Conversely, my qualifications would have allowed me to be of use to your doctors."

"It's not always about medical background," he insisted. "Sometimes just being there means something."

The minute he said it, he knew she'd call him on his faulty reasoning.

"So you don't want me there in either capacity, even though you'd drop everything to be by my side." Brennan shook her head. "How is that not a double standard?"

"I do want you there," Booth groaned. "You have no idea how much I wanted you there. I just—I don't want you to cancel your trip because of me." He waved at the trees around them. "Bones, this is your dream."

"My dreams have changed, Booth." Her voice was suddenly quiet, taking him off guard with the abrupt mood change. "I had already decided prior to your arrival that I want to resume my work at the Jeffersonian. The Carlisle case remains unsolved, and there are many other faceless victims who deserve justice and a name. I want to be with Angela when she gives birth. And I want to move into our new house and make it a home with you."

Again, her face shifted expression and Booth refrained from reading into it. There were too many conclusions he could jump to that would raise his hopes mistakenly.

Brennan rested her hands on his chest and looked up at him seriously. "I'm coming home early, Booth. Are you going to try and stop me?"

"When has that ever worked?" he joked, trying unsuccessfully to hide the emotion in his voice. He dropped the duffle bag and pulled her into him with his good arm. "Just—Bones, you're sure you won't have any regrets about walking out on the possible evolutionary link between man and myna bird?"

Brennan smiled and slid one hand up across his uninjured shoulder. "I missed your jokes."

"I missed everything about you," he muttered, shaking his head in amazement. "Where's this hut, Bones? I need some attention from a certain doctor, and it has nothing to do with my shoulder."

She kissed him instead of answering, and the sun had sunk a whole lot lower by the time she stopped.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As many times as she'd walked through the rainforest, Brennan found that Booth's unique perspective on things made the experience feel almost brand new to her all over again. The adrenaline rush she'd felt upon seeing him standing on the dock had yet to diminish, and she didn't expect it to anytime soon. He was here, walking beside her, holding her hand securely and keeping up a running commentary on everything from 'kamikaze-size' bugs to the tropical-winter effect of clove flower petals, which she'd never before noticed looked like falling snow.

She'd missed everything about him, from his large hand wrapped around hers and his sure stride even over unfamiliar terrain, to his over-protective tendencies—he kept trying to make sure she didn't trip over logs, logs whose placement she knew far better than he did—and his ability to make her laugh at small, comical details like the way an inquisitive wild pig followed them, seemingly intent on being taken back to D.C. as company for Parker and Caesar.

Then there was the way he looked at her when a bird-winged butterfly with an 8 inch wingspan and a glittering gold and blue body landed on her shoulder and she commented that it was an extremely rare, protected species. Booth made the patently ludicrous comment that, "There are at least a handful of those around, but there's only one Temperance Brennan. And you wonder why I need to keep you safe."

Brennan brushed it off as trite and absurd but, secretly, the pragmatic scientist glowed inside at being so cherished by someone that he would fly halfway around the world to walk the rainforest and compare her to butterflies. For a woman whose wings had been clipped at an early age, it was a potent reminder of Booth's gentle lessons in teaching her to fly again.

The short walk to the Lisela hut was pleasantly extended by his frequent stops to enfold her in his arms and kiss her. Occasionally he would just glance at her with dark, perceptive amusement and she'd be the one to initiate the kiss, holding onto his biceps so as not to jar his shoulder and giving herself over to the heady sensation of his mouth moving over hers with the spicy, pungent fragrance of clove all around them.

Sometimes they inadvertently bumped the orchids in the low-slung overhead canopy, and the sweet scent, mingled with notes of nutmeg, moss and peat, all combined to make Brennan's head spin even more than usual when Booth ducked his head for another kiss.

The Lisela hut finally came into view in the middle of a small forest clearing, the result of a relatively recent slash and burn project that had been abandoned for one reason or another. Silhouetted by the light of the full moon, its ramshackle appearance looked incongruous against the graceful, twisted lines of the ancient nutmeg trees.

"Whoa." Booth stared at the strange bamboo structure. "Bones—it's on stilts. There's no door. Or roof!"

She pulled a large flashlight out of backpack and turned it on, creating a wide tunnel of light through the heavy tropical darkness. "After my initial encounter with them in February, the Lisela tribe agreed to rent me one of their huts in disrepair, in exchange for basic medical treatment. It's rustic, but adequate accommodation."

He followed her as she climbed inside, complaining. "What if it rains? What if one of your wild pigs wanders in while we're, you know? Or one of those Godzilla birds?"

"There are no cassowaries on the island, and wild pigs are deterred by the hut's slight elevation. Furthermore, the noise we make will undoubtedly serve as a disincentive to disturbing us while we 'you know.'" She set her backpack down and began rummaging in it. "The only wildlife we will have to contend with are insects, birds and bats. This is the end of the Molucca's dry season. There's a tarp we can use to create a makeshift roof, if necessary. Take off your shirt."

"Too bad you don't mean that in an unsquinty way," he groused, following her beam of light to the spare mattress on the floor that she'd hauled over from the dig site.

"Depending on the severity of your injury, I might," she countered, removing her first aid kit. She placed the wide base of the flashlight on the floor and angled its beam more accurately toward Booth, who was carefully peeling away his shirt. He tossed it aside and sat down on the mattress, awaiting her inspection.

"Not exactly how I wanted you looking at me half-naked for the first time in three months," he commented dryly.

Brennan crouched in front of him, wishing there was a chair that would allow her to examine him closer to eye-level. "I don't know what that means."

"Like a medical specimen. Instead of a guy," he elaborated.

Taking her eyes momentarily off the worrisomely blood-soaked pressure bandage above his right synovial bursa, she ran her gaze across his otherwise impeccable upper body, following the same path with her fingertips across his biceps, down his pectorals and over his flat abdomen where she lingered, tracing the ridges of his six-pack until he hissed out a breath and pressed his hand across hers.

"I've missed making love with you, Booth. But first I need to look at your injury."

"Go to it, Doc," he said, sounding resigned.

Brennan began to peel away the blood-soaked gauze, maintaining a steady pressure with her free hand. "Was the wound thoroughly debrided?" she asked, talking more to herself than him. "Foreign bodies left in the joint can interfere with normal mechanical movements and lead to arthritis."

"They poked around plenty," he assured her. "They flushed it and did all sorts of fun stuff, in addition to the x-rays. There's nothing left in there, Bones. Besides, they said it was more of a deep graze than anything. The blade missed the joint, and I may end up developing bursitis because of the resulting inflammation. Nothing I'm not used to dealing with."

"You were extremely fortunate," she commented as the edges of the wound began to appear. "Nevertheless, you should still be wearing a sling." The bandage adhered to his sweat damp skin and Booth hissed out a pained breath when she tugged at it.

"Hey, Bones, did you know that on TV when a guy gets shot in the left arm, he usually dies because it's on the same side as his heart, but if he gets shot in the right, he survives?"

Brennan frowned. "That's absurd. A bullet wound to either shoulder can, and frequently does, prove fatal or crippling, regardless of which side it falls on."

"It had something to do with being the side the heart is on, I think. You said you sent me an email I didn't read before leaving. What did it say?"

Recognizing his need to distract himself, Brennan continued inching the bandage back while she answered. "I had another nightmare."

"Was I in this one?" he asked cautiously.

"You were, but not as the villain." She removed the final layer of the bandage and lifted the flashlight to examine the purpling wound. "You had been injured—how was unclear—and I wasn't allowed into the ICU to be with you due to our lack of a family connection. It's similar to what occurred when Pam shot you."

"Aw, Bones." His voice was gruff. "I'm sorry."

Satisfied that the wound had been well-attended to back in DC and that there was no indication of hemorrhaging or septicemia as a result of his inadvisable long trip so soon after sustaining the injury, she moved away and began removing fresh bandages from her first aid kid. "I felt helpless," she admitted. "I strongly dislike the feeling of not being able to do anything constructive in any situation, but especially in one where someone I love is at risk."

"You were there," he said gently. "Even if you weren't in the same room with me, that meant something, Bones."

"Not to me. I couldn't even hold your hand." She couldn't hold back the frustration in her voice. "In spite of my previous work with the hospital, I was not allowed to know any detailed particulars of your injury due to patient confidentiality." Brennan settled back down in front of him, using his wound as an excuse to avoid meeting his eye. "I'm applying a mild antiseptic. It will sting slightly."

He gritted his teeth as she swabbed the area to remove any traces of old gauze, then applied the topical cream. Booth's hands curled into fists, but he remained motionless as she worked, packing the wound and re-bandaging it with care before securing the bandage in place with waterproof tape.

"It has occurred to me that such a situation is at least one vote in favor of marriage." Brennan sat back and eyed her neat work. "If we were married, I would have a say in your medical care."

Booth caught her chin and nudged it up to meet his eyes. "We can get a medical proxy, if you're that worried, Bones. We can set it up so you never get left out like that again."

"I would have thought you'd be happy to hear me reconsidering marriage," she said, confused.

"I want you to marry me to marry me, Bones," he said softly, trailing his thumb across her jawline in a tender caress. "Not because you feel you have to in order to protect me."

"What if that was the one thing that might have convinced me to say yes?" she pressed.

He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. "That's not a good enough reason. If you ever do decide to marry me, I don't want it to be because you have some misguided idea that you have to and then wind up feeling trapped later. I want it to be because you want to, no strings attached to the decision." He cradled her jaw with his big hand and smiled. "Any chance I can get a little action to go with the medical care, Dr. Brennan?"

"I thought you didn't like thinking of me as Dr. Brennan in a bedroom setting," she replied, grateful that he had once again let her off the hook so generously, even while her mind continued to ponder his comments in juxtaposition with Teresa's.

Booth's smile widened. "Guess I changed my mind. How's the wound look?"

She returned his smile, sinking into the warmth and acceptance of his gaze. With him, she didn't need to prove anything or be anybody other than Temperance Brennan. There was a freedom in that knowledge that matched how she felt walking through the forest. "As long as we're careful, we should be able to make love without causing you undue pain or further aggravating the injury."

"Man, I missed that sexy squint doublespeak." He slid a hand around the back of her neck and drew her forward. "Any chance that in English that means you want me as badly as I want you?"

"I'm glad you're here, Booth," she whispered just before their lips met. "I missed this."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 10****th**

**87 days**

The partners were ensconced in each other, sound asleep, when the rain started around 3:30 a.m. Booth noticed it first when water drizzling down his bare back jolted him awake. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on and when realization finally sank in, it was with the temptation to pull the blanket tighter around them and just forget the storm. Brennan had wrapped herself around him like one of the many liana vines in the forest and he had no desire to disentangle her arms and limbs from his.

Thick rays of moonlight slanted sideways into the wide-open hut, seeming to magnify the increasingly large droplets of rain. High above, Booth could make out dark clouds and stars, set against the backdrop of frantic bats, swarming towards whatever tree they called home before they got drenched.

He pressed a kiss to Brennan's head, which was tucked under his chin. "Bones." She sighed and burrowed into him. He kissed her again and tried to pull the covers away with the arm that wasn't in the makeshift sling she'd insisted he wear, but she stubbornly clung to them, and him, in her sleep. Booth cursed under his breath as the rain slashed across his skin with increasing violence. The tarp Brennan had brought along for such emergencies taunted him out of reach in the corner of the hunt, rustling with each blast of wind.

"Bones," he said more loudly.

"Mmmm." Her sleepy, incoherent noises were one more thing to add to the list of everything he'd missed about her.

"Come on, Bones," he insisted, shaking her and trying unsuccessfully to sit up with the sling throwing his weight off balance. "Wake up. It's raining Godzilla birds and bats."

Her eyes flickered open in response to the nonsequitur and squinted in the moonlit darkness. "What's wrong?"

"Rain," Booth repeated, pointing at the sky. "Any chance you can let me up so we can spread the tarp out before we have a flashflood in here?"

"No."

He blinked at her unexpected response. "Huh?"

Brennan didn't budge. If anything, her arms tightened further around his waist. "One of your fantasies was making love to me when I was soaking wet after being lost in a rainstorm. Remember?"

He remembered.

She went on, "Angela once described 'making love in a dinky little hotel in the middle of monsoon season while the rain crashes on the flimsy roof overhead and you wonder if that's how it's all going to end.' She was quite determined that it was an experience I should have."

Booth knew better than to open his mouth at this point for any reason other than to kiss her. This was sounding very promising.

She tilted her head and looked into his face with sleepy eyes made sultry by her smudged makeup. "In spite of your dislike of getting wet, would you mind indulging this fantasy in the name of experimenting?"

Booth chuckled and held out a hand to catch the droplets that were flying fast and heavy, forming a curtain of moonlit mist around them. "Fantasize away, Bones. I'm a willing guinea pig." He propped himself up on awkwardly on his elbow and dropped a light kiss on her bare shoulder. "Show me what you want, baby."

She smiled playfully and traced her way across his chest, moving across and down in a slow, ticklish rhythm that he put up with until she drifted just a little too low. He'd been Brennan-deprived way too long to endure that kind of teasing on the first go round.

Booth shrugged off the sling and caught her hands, draping his larger body partially across hers. He slid his hand beneath her head, lifting it slightly off the pillow to meet his. She opened her mouth to say something and he cut her off with a kiss that started out hot and progressed to blistering in seconds. One of them—or maybe both—moaned at the intimate warmth of their tongues connecting, countering the chill of the wind and rain.

Without breaking the kiss, Booth moved further over top of her, placing his body between her and the raindrops. She sighed as their damp, bare skin pressed together, and reached up to anchor herself with his forearms when his mouth moved from her lips to her neck, to her shoulders, to her breasts.

"Booth …" her voice was husky as she took him up on his offer to tell him what she wanted. "Here."

Obligingly, he moved toward the spot she indicated, making her gasp with deliberately slow, circling sweeps of his hot mouth over her cool skin.

"Here."

Again, he did as she asked and received the same reaction.

"Here."

And again, as she grew more demanding, guiding the pressure with her hands at the back of his head, and again, adding gentle scoring of his teeth to the mix and enjoying watching her start to come apart when he'd barely even touched her yet.

Then she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, sending Booth's own body into a tailspin of desire with her wholehearted reciprocation. Gusts of wind made the whole hut vibrate; the rain soaked them both to the metaphorical bone, and, for once, he didn't give a damn about being wet, maybe because he wasn't cold. Brennan's soaking hair dripping across him as she reacquainted herself with his body, her long lashes glistening with raindrops, and wet, slightly parted lips, were so hot that it wouldn't have been a surprise to Booth if steam started pouring off both their skins.

When he couldn't take it anymore, Booth turned them again. He skimmed his hands across the backs of her thighs and kissed her hard before sliding forward, simultaneously drawing her legs around his waist. The joining of their bodies after months of being apart prompted twin groans of relief, followed by escalating moans as they began to move together, eyes locked as tightly as their hips.

Given how tightly both partners clung to control in their daily lives, there was more than a little vulnerability in watching each other completely let go. This was five+ years of partnership, six extended weeks of experimenting, twelve months of dating, ninety days of being apart, all colliding with the possibility—the hope, the understandable slight fear— of sixty more of the same intensity. They held tightly to each other, their tight embrace making it a foregone conclusion that here, as in daily life, if one fell, the other would follow. And yet, neither thought to look away.

She broke first, spiraling into orbit with a loud cry, and he was right behind, calling her name and lifting her towards him, holding her close as shudders of pleasure racked both their bodies, before finally easing them back down to the mattress.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Had it not been for his injury, Brennan would have been content to remain in the tangle of arm and legs that she and Booth had collapsed in, his heavy body a warm, welcome weight on top of hers as the wind gusted around them, rustling the tree branches. Before she could ask him about his injury he pre-empted her question with a muffled one of his own, buried as his face was in her neck.

"The shoulder's fine, Smurfette."

Brennan smiled at how well he knew her and prodded him in the ribs. "I would prefer visual confirmation of that. You shouldn't have removed the sling."

He flopped reluctantly onto his back, tucking his good arm behind his head. She was relieved to find that the wound appeared unaffected by their physical contortions, in spite of the sodden bandage. Reaching over for her plastic first aid kid at their bedside, she removed a sterile gauze wrap and a fresh dressing.

As she retrieved her supplies, Booth reached up to her trace her clavicle with a fingertip, following it from the convexity of the sternal end to the concavity at the scapula and back again. She pushed his hand aside, intent on re-bandaging the wound properly. Undeterred, he rested his hand on her bare hip and began a similarly distracting exploration.

"Booth," she finally said in exasperation, "I need to concentrate."

Smiling smugly at having diverted her focus even for a minute, Booth allowed her to finish up. She stood to go get the tarp and wobbled. His fingers closed securely around her calves, providing a needed support until she got her bearings and stepped off the mattress until the cold, muddy floor.

His eyes tracked her as she retrieved the sodden tarp, then discarded the idea of using it as a blanket, even though the rain was now only falling lightly. Physical impossibility though it was, she could have sworn she felt the heat of his gaze on her back as she changed plans and retrieved a neatly packed square from her rucksack.

Booth grinned as she tore open the plastic and unfolded the space blanket, not missing the irony of using the same blanket they'd made love under in the Arctic to shelter beneath in the tropics.

"Hey, Bones," he mused innocently. "You think we broke a record with this one or something? I definitely saw stars."

Brennan rolled her eyes at the poor joke about their roofless accommodations. She wiped her feet on the blouse she'd discarded by the bed—she had extra clothes in her rucksack—and climbed back onto the mattress with him. She settled down beside him again before coyly replying, "I'm unaware of any records for lovemaking that we might have surpassed. However, it is not outright hyperbole to say I might have seen constellations."

Laughter rolled through him like the storm at her reference to the promise he had made her on the LearJet.

"In that case, I am definitely reconsidering my opinion about rain."

She grinned.

Booth turned onto his side and rested his chin on Brennan's shoulder, crossing his arms across her breasts to protect her as much as possible from any chill the body-heat reflecting blanket didn't ward off immediately. His warm breath, exhaled against her neck, drifted over her back and chest. She pressed closer to him, content with the balance of their relationship in this moment—each of them taking care of the other in the way that best suited their abilities, Brennan with her medical knowledge, Booth with his large body and penchant for throwing it in front of anything that might harm her, including wind and rain.

They lay quietly together, listening to the rain dripping from large leaves outside and the chirp of nighttime insects, accompanied by the occasional loud rustle of leaves as a bird or bat opportunistically hunted small creatures stirred up by the storm. In spite of the peace, Brennan's practical side was never easy to hold at bay.

"How long are you staying?"

"Not long enough." He rubbed his always warm feet over her perpetually cold ones, a small, typical gesture Brennan hadn't even realized she missed. "I fly out on Wednesday morning. When are you planning on coming back?"

She rested her arms over his and turned her head to kiss the inside of his right bicep. "I need to finish packing and wrap up some final details here. The best time for me to leave will probably be late next week, when the team breaks camp and moves to Seram for the wet season."

"Isn't Seram where you said all the Godzillas live?"

"Cassowaries are native to the island, yes."

"Five foot tall birds with three inch claws." Booth sounded disgusted at this disruption in the obvious order of how he obviously saw things: birds should be small, harmlessly fluffy creatures for cats to chase—not the other way around. "One more reason to be glad you're coming home."

"I'll email you the flight change details. Are you still considering a night in the airport hotel?"

"I might be able to hold out until we get back to my place," he answered. "Might. Depends how hot you look when you get off the plane."

"I always look hot."

"Oh, yeah. You're prime real estate, baby." He punctuated his playful words with a kiss to her cheek.

Once again, her rational side interrupted. "Regarding real estate—where are we going to live? The house is rented out for another two months."

It was a given that they weren't going to live apart again.

"Let's figure that out once you get home, huh, Bones?" he suggested. "You'll probably need a couple weeks to decompress anyway, so having your place to retreat to isn't a bad idea."

As always, he understood her.

"Transitioning from the jungle to the city will be an adjustment," Brennan admitted.

"Going from serial killer birds to run of the mill axe murderers? Nah. No transition there, Bones—you'll slide right back into things."

Brennan smiled.

"Like I said," he went on, more seriously. "We'll figure it out, Bones. There's no rush."

She turned in his arms, wanting to look into his face. The blanket was also getting too warm for comfort, and she pushed it back, enjoying the refreshing night breeze. "I realized recently that we've been dating for approximately a year."

"Yeah?" Booth raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

Brennan scooted back to get a little breathing room and rested her palm over his sternum. "We started the experiment in April."

"Wow." He sounded surprised. "So this is kind of like our one year anniversary."

The beat of his heart was reassuring in its steady rhythm. If she allowed herself to think about the damage the knife could have done had Booth's assailant had better aim … Brennan firmly pushed aside the thought. "In a manner of speaking, even though we don't have an exact date."

Booth abruptly kicked off the blankets and rolled off the bed. She sat up in confusion, watching as he shoved his bare feet into his wet tennis shoes and clumped toward the hole where there should have been a door. She enjoyed the moonlit view of his lean, naked hips, firm gluteal muscles and broad thighs.

"Where are you going?"

"Pythons aren't poisonous, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Booth ducked out of the hut. She heard his footsteps crunching around close by, followed by a slight snapping sound. "Close your eyes, Bones," he called.

She did as he asked, and listened to the sounds of his approaching feet. She was contemplating how the mattress would most likely have to be discarded, given her poor preparations for the rainy season, when Booth spoke.

"Happy anniversary."

Brennan opened her eyes and found him standing beside the mattress, holding out a large white clove flower. He smiled a little sheepishly. "Best I could do on short notice."

The same moonlight that had drawn her attention to the strong column of his back drew her eyes to the large muscle groups on prominent display in front of her. Brennan was hard-pressed not to lick her lips with renewed desire as she got to her feet and took the flower from him, ignoring the immediately sticky white pollen residue that coated her hands. She held the flower to her nose and inhaled the spicy fragrance. "I wasn't insinuating you should get me a present."

"From here on out, April 10th is our anniversary," he said firmly, in that tone that told her arguing would be fruitless. "Now that I know the date—I'm not the kind of guy to forget, Bones."

Brennan looked from the flower and back to him again. "No. You're not."

Apparently satisfied, he kicked off his shoes and stepped onto the mattress with her. Brennan set the flower on her t-shirt and straightened to find him looking at her with a combination of love and lust that she had only recently become aware could co-exist without one canceling the other out.

"Booth," she said hesitantly. "If we do get married … would you want me to change my last name?"

He adopted a joking tone, presumably to keep things light and not make her feel he was overly confident of her reply. "Let's see. Bones Booth. Temperance Booth." He listed the possibilities. "Temperance Booth Brennan. Temperance Brennan Booth. Nah. None of them have the same ring as Temperance Brennan. "

"Temperance Booth Brennan doesn't sound terrible," she ventured, nevertheless relieved.

She saw the hope flare in his eyes, before being quickly reined in. "So … uh … you're considering."

"Considering," she repeated. "Even if I did say yes, I have to keep my name, Booth. Joy Keenan was taken from me without my consent. Temperance Brennan is the only person I know how to be."

Booth stepped closer to lace his fingers through hers, so they stood palm to palm. The pollen from her hands transferred to his, but he ignored it as he looked down at her intently, all traces of humor gone. "Temperance Brennan is the only person I want."

As he kissed her, Brennan's lightning-fast mind split off on several different tangents, considering. One part of her was in the rundown hut, returning her partner's kiss with undiluted hunger, attempting to compensate physically for the patience she continually demanded of him and that he gave so willingly. The other was weighing pros and cons and finding that the scale was considerably more weighted in the former direction than she'd previously believed. More and more, she was realizing the scale just might be considerably more weighted in the former direction than she'd previously believed. To overlook the empirical evidence gathered in the last year would be irrational.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**Post-narrative A/N: I'm really excited about the parking lot scene and am editing it rather obsessively to make sure it's as IC as possible and meets the high expectations I know you have. =)**


	78. The Beginning in The End

**I originally intended for this story to be 8 to 10 chapters, but it developed a real life of its own. The characters started to feel like they were evolving autonomously, to the point where sometimes it felt like I was just wielding the pen, while they wrote their own stories. I realize not everybody will agree with the character evolution I've chosen for Booth and Brennan. Nevertheless, here you have it. I've edited obsessively, and could keep revising endlessly, but it's time to put the chapter out there and see what people think. The ending is as in character as I know how to make it in my own mind. If it played out this way on screen, I think I would believe it. **

**All that remains is the epilogue (Short. Very. Short. TBP in about a week.)and my final A/N, where I will offer thanks to the people whom I've leaned on heavily ever since starting this story on May 15****th****—and to all the reviewers. If you choose to follow me that little bit longer, you'll also get some personal insight into the author behind the story. **

**Here's hoping that, in keeping with the season, this chapter is a brightly-wrapped present whose content exceeds expectations. Merry Christmas! ~Margarita**

**(Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter, giving me my own early Christmas present. ****=)**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 13****th**

**84 days**

She knew her way around the island. To say that she was lost would be hyperbolic, verging on melodrama that was totally out of character for the no-nonsense scientist. However, as she walked into the camp after seeing Booth off on the small mail plane, Brennan had the uncomfortable feeling that something had somehow been mislaid. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked around.

The buildings were all in their familiar locations, albeit in a state of disarray. Some had been half torn down in preparation for the changeover to Seram, others were surrounded by stacks of waterproof crates encased in orange packing tape. Booth had helped her pack up some of her stuff, so even the inside of her own tent was fairly chaotic, but that was to be expected.

Team members wandered around the premises going about their daily routines, long established after four months. Santiago, a small, nervous man, flitted from tent to tent checking on the status of the temperamental wireless connection. James Thompson brushed by her, earbuds firmly in place and head bobbing to his ever-present death metal music, as he headed toward the trenches to finish breaking down equipment for the camp move. Now sporting a blue and pink mohawk and a recently added nose ring, Richard was yelling into a sputtering walkie talkie—something about a delay in the arrival of the boat that was due to transport all their gear to Seram in the next few days.

A Cobalt Blue Tarantula, the color of wet denim, stalked a cricket several feet away, and Brennan made sure she wasn't in its path. After jealously drooling over several pictures, Hodgins had informed her that, while only mildly toxic, the species was extremely aggressive. (He had termed it 'psychotic' and a 'total blue widow,' even though he couldn't identify the gender from her photographs.) She took a picture of the large spider and smiled to herself at the thought of perturbing Booth with yet another prospective pet for Parker's bat-wild pig-cassowary menagerie.

It all was very ordinary: nothing that should stir up feelings of confusion or uncertainty in Brennan. Aggravated at herself for allowing sentiment to overrule logic, she crossed the camp site and entered her tent. She skirted large boxes not yet sealed with tape and settled at her desk. Opening her email account, she discovered excited letters from Cam, Russ and Angela, all raving about her early return home for their own reasons—Cam because it meant she'd get her star anthropologist back sooner than anticipated, Russ because he would no longer have to worry about his baby sister in the wilds of Indonesia, and Angela because … just because it was Angela and she was very pregnant and very much missing her best friend.

Brennan typed a rapid reply to each person, enjoying the feeling of being missed. Upon their return to camp after several days, Booth had been upset to discover that the dig team had barely noted her absence. She had pointed out that most people were away on vacation and, furthermore, that they were accustomed to her disappearing on weekends, but he'd remained disgruntled at the idea that team members weren't forming search parties or outright panicking after she failed to return from collecting the mail.

Brennan was about to email Parker the picture of the spider when there was a sharp tap on the tent door. She closed her laptop. "Come in."

Lawrence Givens, the Project Coordinator and person responsible for Brennan's invitation to join the team, stepped inside. The low ceiling of the tent forced him to remove his trademark Stetson and duck uncomfortably. He was a very large man, hovering just below 6'5 and probably tipping the scales at close to 240 lbs, much of that muscle which he maintained with punishing morning workouts that started long before most people in camp were awake. Of partial Navajo/Pueblo Indian background, his high cheekbones, heavy-lidded eyes and waist-length, glossy black hair had made him the frequent target of Karen Anne's flirtatious advances.

In addition to his attractive physical appearance, his intelligence rivaled Brennan's. He had five Master's Degrees and three PhDs, along with more hours in the field than any other member on the team. Intensely private, to the extent that little information on his life outside of academia was available online, Givens amiably tolerated both Karen Anne and the constant questions about his romantic status from other team members, but revealed nothing. He was also notorious for not mincing words.

Givens held up Brennan's letter of resignation, which she'd given him six weeks earlier. "Presumably, Agent Booth's visit means that I've missed my last chance to persuade you to sign on for an additional half year?"

"I made it clear when I initially signed on that I had no intention of extending the duration of my stay beyond the agreed six months. Booth's surprise visit had no bearing on my decision."

"What about finishing out your original contract?" Givens asked. "There's only a short amount of time left."

"I've never failed to complete the terms of a work contract," Brennan acknowledged. She was unaccustomed to disappointing her colleagues, and Givens' opinion of her meant more than most. "However, thus far the expedition has uncovered nothing of real scientific value. You don't need a forensic anthropologist with my credentials on staff if there are no compromised remains to be analyzed. Staying two more months would be a waste of my time, and of your limited project funds."

He didn't appear offended by her candid assessment. "So late next week you'll be returning to your work at the Jeffersonian?"

"And with the FBI."

Givens nodded slowly. "Your team will be happy to have you back."

"It's Dr. Saroyan's team," Brennan corrected him, remembering her conversation with Cam. "I will be happy to be back with them."

"Indeed." He looked at her for a long moment, seeming to be thinking something over. Finally, Givens reached into his vest pocket. He stepped forward and handed a laminated 2 x 3 photograph to Brennan. She looked at the much-creased image of an older Chinese woman with a serene look on her weathered face.

"My wife, Xiao Li," Givens explained. "She died thirteen years ago."

Brennan handed the picture back and remained silent, uncertain how to respond to the surprising, unsolicited revelation.

He returned the photograph to his vest pocket. "We met on an archaeological dig in Mongolia. For the first three months of our relationship, she thought I was an arrogant ass, and I was certain she was a self-absorbed narcissist with little interest for anything that wasn't fossilized or that might not lead to a credit in a scientific journal."

"It would seem you both changed your minds eventually."

"Neither of our opinions was completely unfounded." Givens' voice was warm with recollection. "We were both too stubborn for our own good, which would be in keeping with my observations of you and Agent Booth these last few days."

Brennan smiled wryly. "I can't argue with that empirically sound assessment."

His tone changed to something altogether different. "Dr. Brennan, I saw the way Booth looked at you. It mirrored the way you looked at him, when you thought nobody else was watching."

She looked away, feeling exposed, and her eyes fell on the three photographs arranged neatly beside her laptop. The first was of Booth leaning back against the Arctic Circle sign, wrapped in a dark coat covered in mud from their Jeep fiasco, his wide grin seeming to reach out from the photograph right into Brennan's tent. The picture beside it was one of them as a couple, goofing around as the camera's automatic timer took pictures of them making faces and generally acting like idiots in the belief that nobody else would ever see. Brennan lifted it into her lap and studied it, smiling at the memory.

Givens broke into her thoughts. "Xiao Li was older than I was, and already ill when we first met, so I knew our time together would be limited."

"And yet you married her anyway?" Brennan asked carefully, not wanting to offend, but also not understanding.

"I married her _because,"_ he answered. "She was my partner as much as Agent Booth is yours and marriage was a natural extension of that partnership. It didn't create a brand new bond between us, Dr. Brennan. It simply strengthened the one that already existed."

Brennan shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You've repeatedly stated that your feelings on marriage are confused. While losing her was painful, I don't regret a single day of my marriage to Xiao Li."

"Your observations were accurate." She replaced the photograph on her desk. "My feelings for Agent Booth are very strong. However, while my views on marriage have changed, I'm still not certain that a lifelong commitment is a realistic expectation."

"Perhaps it's not," Givens answered surprisingly. "Then again, neither is believing that this dig will unearth the magic bone that determines what, exactly, it is that makes us human."

Angela's words of goodbye suddenly echoed in Brennan's mind. _Sweetie, I hope you find something that just changes the entire notion of what it means to be human. _For the first time, the scientist picked up on the double-meaning her best friend had undoubtedly intended to convey.

Givens went on, oblivious to the memory he had evoked. "Our work here is about discovering the connection that might exist between species. Who are our true ancestors, and what is the genetic burden we carry as a result of their heritage? Furthermore, how have those ancestors lives directly influenced who we've become today and how we live? In the same way an adoptive child might search for his or her parents to understand 'why am I this way?' we are attempting to relate the age of computers to the age of saber-toothed tigers and firepits."

"What does this have to do with my relationship with Booth?" she asked in confusion.

"Our search here in the Moluccas is for the link that might bring us face to face with those long-ago grandparents, so we can look into their eyes and better understand why our species has become what it is. In the same manner, your work restoring people's identities relies on the memories that individuals have for one another. When you come across a skeleton of a person whom nobody remembers—an individual who didn't, perhaps, take the time or have the ability to make deep connections with other human beings—discovering that person's identity automatically becomes much more difficult." Givens cleared his throat. "In a metaphorical sense, we give each other our faces, Dr. Brennan. It's not bones that make us human, nor is it our hearts or brains. Our relationships do that."

If it had been anybody else lecturing her on the nature of her work, Brennan would have been irate. His comments were very much in keeping with thoughts she'd recently been having—thoughts she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge even to herself yet—so she'd allowed Givens a margin of error, but he was now coming very close to the line she drew in the sand between herself and practically anybody who wasn't Booth or Angela.

"Your comments are bordering on intrusive," she informed him bluntly. "I fail to see why you should pry into my personal life, when your own is so closely guarded."

"Your point is well-taken. My overstepping of boundaries has been in serious breach of good manners or professional conduct. I apologize," he said sincerely. "My only excuse—and a poor one, at that—is that I like you, Dr. Brennan. Your face is one I sometimes see when I look back to my younger years, prior to meeting Xiao Li. As such, might I make one last frank observation?"

She nodded, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Dr. Brennan, over the last months I've determined that your mentality appears to be 'What will I lose by getting married?' Great relationships can and certainly have been sustained throughout the ages without either partner wearing a ring or making a formal commitment. Whatever your ultimate decision, perhaps it's at least time that you rephrase the question to 'What do I have to win?'"

Brennan was only just beginning to consider his words when he extended his hand. "I leave for Seram tomorrow, to start setting up operations. It's been a pleasure working with you, Dr. Brennan."

She stood and took his hand, shaking it formally. "Thank you for extending me an invitation to be a member of the team. I hope you eventually find … a connection to our common ancestors."

"If we do, you'll be one of the first to know." He hunched his shoulders, placed his hat on his head, and ducked out of the tent.

"Dr. Givens," Brennan called hesitantly.

He stuck his head back in, his broad shoulders hovering comically close to the ceiling. "Yes?"

"Did you ever find marriage suffocating?"

"Certainly. I won't lie to you, Dr. Brennan. As with any worthy endeavor where certain parts of people's identities have to be subsumed in order to create a stronger enterprise, at times it was like being buried alive." Givens smiled. "Those were also the moments when I was very glad that there were two of us to do the work of shoveling." He ducked back out, closing the door with courteous care so that it didn't slam.

Brennan opened her laptop, thinking about the Project Coordinator's words. As she waited for the wireless connection to re-establish itself, she looked at the last picture on her desk. It was of the entire Jeffersonian team, at the partners' housewarming Christmas party. Daisy had joined Mr. Nigel Murray and Fisher in making bunny ears over Sweets' oblivious head. Caroline was scowling at the interns' antics, poorly hiding her amusement. Hodgins stood behind Angela, his hands resting lightly on her small baby bump, his preternaturally blue eyes unusually calm and content. Angela looked tired but satisfied as she leaned into her husband's chest. Cam was her typical elegant self, smiling at the camera with more than a little reserve. Brennan had a similar expression on her face, even though she was wearing a ludicrous neon green Rudolph scarf that Daisy had bestowed upon her. For some reason, even though she'd looked at the photograph countless times, the fact that Booth wasn't in the picture suddenly bothered Brennan. He was behind the camera.

The wireless finally caught up to speed, and Brennan sent Parker the picture of the spider, followed by a short note to his father.

_Dear Booth, _

_Your flight just left. I regret not being on the plane with you. _

_Love,_

_Bones_

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 15****th**

**82 days**

Hi Bones,

No regrets, remember? Take your time, do what you gotta do. I'm not going anywhere.

I got back home okay. Parker's really excited about the cassowary feather. (And the picture of the tarantula. Thanks a lot. Really.) The fact that you coerced me into tracking down a live specimen in Seram meant nothing to him—he wishes he could've joined in on the hunt, obviously. That's only because he's never met the spawn of Godzilla with a grizzly's teeth.

My shirt smells like cloves and oranges. It's keeping me awake thinking about the person who was last wearing it. I'll never think of apple cider the same way again.

Our four days went by way too fast. I miss you already.

Love,

Booth

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 16****th**

**81 days**

Dear Booth,

I'm glad Parker liked the feather.

Cassowaries don't have teeth anymore than sponges wear pants. The birds are frugivorous and protect themselves by kicking, not biting. Though they can run 30 miles an hour, they cannot outrun a Land Rover, so we were never in any danger.

I think Batista is angry with me for refusing to reconsider my decision to leave. He no longer stops by to walk with me to breakfast, nor has he accepted any of my invitations to take a walk in the evenings.

I miss you too.

~Bones

What is your reaction to this picture of the coconut crab? It's the largest land-living arthropod in the world. Parker might be amused to hear about your reaction on discovering one in our tent the night before you left.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 17****th**

**80 days **

Bones,

That thing definitely had teeth. You need teeth to eat fruit, frogs and snakes. Don't even bother arguing with me.

I can't blame Batista for not doing jumping jacks about you refusing to stay. I _can _blame him for being an asshole and not being at least nicer about things. Put a tarantula in his bed.

Let me know when you're flying in.

Love,

Booth

If you tell Parker about the crab, I'll tell him you got arrested for being too loud.

**b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b**

**April 18****th**

**79 days**

Booth,

Regardless of their aggressive nature, cassowaries are birds and birds do not have teeth. They swallow their food whole, and the crop performs the function of partially digesting the food.

Our wireless will be down for several days, while we establish the new dig site. I'm finalizing preparations for my departure here and assisting the team with the transition to Seram, so I may not be in contact much before leaving. I'll email you as soon as possible with my reservation.

A musical valentine for while I'm out of touch: Garth Brooks' _You Move Me. _The initial verses referencing psychiatry annoy me, but the chorus is very apt for the stage of our relationship at which I find myself physically and emotionally:

_You move me.  
You give me courage I didn't  
know I had.  
You move me.__**  
**__I can't go with you  
And stay where I am.___

See you soon.

Love,

Bones

PS: Given how much we now know about each other, it seems we have reached a blackmail stalemate.

******o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 23****rd**

**9:17 AM**

_This is the final boarding call for flight 416 with service from Dallas to Fort Worth. Final boarding call for flight 416 with service from Dallas to Fort Worth. _

Angela careened into the terminal as quickly as her pregnant body would allow, which was not nearly fast enough. She wove her way through a crowd of people to take a look at the arrivals boards, and discovered that they were a nightmarish scramble of computer gibberish.

"Okay, serious déjà vu," she said loudly, oblivious to the stares from other passersby. "Did anyone meet the flight from Ambon? Garuda Airlines?" Nobody answered her and she sighed heavily. "Yeah … I'm late. Happens a lot when you can't see your feet anymore."

She looked around until she found the help desk where a young man with dark hair, wearing a geeky blue vest, light blue shirt and equally dorky red tie was typing away on his computer. She was determinedly marching towards him when a hand landed on her shoulder from behind.

"Are you planning on attracting his attention by flashing your boobs again? They're much more impressive this time."

Angela turned, a wide grin splitting her round face as she encountered a tanned, tired-looking Brennan guiding a loaded baggage cart. "Pregnancy has its fringe benefits." She threw her arms around the scientist, pulling her best friend as close as her big stomach would allow. "_Sweetie!"_

Brennan returned the embrace warmly, finally pulling back to look at Angela's belly. "Even though you've sent me pictures and your body is following the natural progression of physiological changes associated with pregnancy, I find I'm still surprised by how different you look."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Angela warned her dryly. "Pregnancy is not kind to the body, let me tell you. Among other things, my skin looks like a road map to El Dorado."

"You are referring to stretch marks," Brennan translated.

"Just a few." Angela patted her stomach affectionately before scrutinizing her friend for telltale signs of a sea change. "What about you? Any stretch marks you want to tell me about?"

Brennan stepped away and began to push the cart toward the door, walking slowly so as to allow Angela to keep up. "I presume you're speaking metaphorically in terms of my emotional growth while apart from Booth."

Angela grinned. "Maybe. Just tell me, Bren. Your boobs are nowhere near as big as mine but … did you flash 'em for any fun reasons this time?"

"I wasn't neck deep in a mass grave this time. And Bara is quite a romantic location, when experienced in the right company." Brennan's sly smile made Angela break into ecstatic squeals that had multiple strangers searching the floor nervously for signs of the pregnant lady's water breaking.

"Was it messy?" Angela demanded, bouncing alongside the cart in a credible imitation of an Oompa Loompa.

Brennan nodded, reaching forward to nudge a suitcase back into place after Angela jostled it sideways. "Very."

Angela sighed happily. "You were doing the right thing. Now tell me why you kept your arrival a secret from Mr. Romance."

"I have … a plan," Brennan said slowly. "I need to discuss it with someone who has more expertise in the field of romance than I do, before implementing it."

Angela stopped the cart and maneuvered so she could get a better look at her friend's face. "Oh my God," she said in amazement. "Bren—"

The baby chose that moment to kick sharply and Angela grabbed Brennan's hand, placing it over her abdomen so she could feel the movement. She watched the anthropologist's eyes go wide with wonder at the quick succession of taps against her palm. "You figured it out, didn't you." Angela said softly. "Finally."

Brennan smoothed her hand over Angela's gravid belly before starting the cart forward again. "I suspect I will be figuring it out indefinitely. The solution is not as clear cut as I would have hoped it to be."

"Think of it is as a mystery," Angela suggested. "You're good at those."

"I'm better when I have a capable team assisting me."

"You've got one." Angela hugged her sideways. "Welcome home, sweetie."

The doors whooshed open, hitting them in the face with the crisp, cool draft of a D.C. morning. Brennan looked over at Angela and smiled serenely, like a big piece of the eternal puzzle had fallen into place right then. "It's good to be back."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**April 23rd**

**10:00 pm**

Six days without hearing from Brennan didn't sit well with Booth, even when she'd warned him she would probably be vanishing. His routine of work—workout—try and sleep unsuccessfully—get up and work some more did little to keep his thoughts off where she might be, what she might be doing, and when she might be coming home. Even an invitation to dinner at the mansion did little to distract him.

Resting her hands on her distended abdomen, Angela eyed Booth curiously from the oven where she'd just finished pulling a Marie Callender's Triple Berry pie out of the oven. "You're sure you don't want a piece?"

"She made me go out and get it just for you." Hodgins scooted by his very pregnant wife and stooped to kiss her belly lovingly on his way back into the dining room carrying a plate loaded with seconds.

Booth patted his own stomach and pushed back his chair. "You should've told me about dessert before I ate all that steak. Sorry, Ange. I'm as stuffed as one of your fancy new Parisian throw pillows."

"Just because I'm suffering from a bad case of pregnant brain doesn't mean I've forgotten the important things." Angela slid the pie back into the oven and closed the door. "In all the years I've known you, I can't even remember once when you've said no to pie."

He shrugged apologetically. "There's always a first."

"Not for you and pie," she insisted. "That's like The Great Divorce or something—a grim and joyless city for Seeley Booth."

The FBI Agent squirmed, aware she was about to pounce. "It's just pie, Angela."

"Oh my god." Angela's voice rose excitedly as she shuffled over to the table and sank down into a chair. "You're not eating pie because of Brennan."

Her husband paused in the middle of slathering a sea-salt-encrusted baked potato with butter. "No way, Angie. That's a little too much even for Mr. Midnight Skydiving." When Booth failed to answer the taunt, the entomologist's blue eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"It's just our thing, okay?" Booth muttered, removing the napkin from his shirt and carefully beginning to fold it. "We go to the diner, I eat pie, and she says it stinks." He didn't tell them that Brennan now occasionally shared a slice with him. The excitement of that might send Angela into premature labor.

"That is so sweet," Angela squealed, giving him goo-goo eyes made ten times worse by her pregnant state, which left Booth feeling unable to defend himself as vociferously as he usually would have.

Hodgins crowed in disbelief. "Dude." He waved his knife in the air. "I can't believe it. The last bastion of alpha male pride has finally fallen. You are so whipped!"

"What about you?" Booth retorted irritably, glaring at the napkin he couldn't seem to fold back into its original shape. "Pickles at 3 o'clock in the morning?" He darted a glance at Angela to make sure he hadn't hurt her highly-hormonal feelings and found her beaming so widely her chipmunk cheeks must have hurt. "No offense, Ange, but that sounds pretty whipped to me."

Hodgins laughed, not in the least disturbed by the barb. "She's got me buying pies for another man. Dude, I am _totally _whipped. The difference is—I own it."

"He hasn't had time to own it," Angela protested, making Booth cringe as she rose to his defense.

He opened his mouth to firmly clear up the misunderstanding, when the text alert on his phone went off. Angela and Hodgins watched interestedly as he grabbed for the phone.

_Meet me at 491 as soon as you can. ~B_

Booth got up so quickly, he almost knocked the chair over. Everything in him screamed to haul ass out to the SUV, but Angela deserved a little more than that for all her trouble cooking up a storm in her heavily pregnant state. "Thanks for dinner, guys. I—"

"She's back, isn't she." Angela's eyes shone.

Tongue-tied and halfway terrified at the implications of where she wanted to meet, all Booth could suddenly do was nod.

"Get out of here," she ordered. "Don't keep her waiting this time."

Booth nodded again, looked at Angela with dumb gratitude, and scrambled for the door. Hodgins' gloating parting shot followed him down the driveway.

"Welcome to the club!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Ideally, Booth would have driven straight from the mansion to the stadium. Still, just in case … he made the trip to his place. The detour was significant enough that his teeth were on edge by the time he retrieved what he came for and got back on the highway.

He didn't use the noisemaker. Even when he had sirens going off in his head at the implications of where she wanted to meet him, he couldn't justify the illegal use. He settled instead for breaking the law a different way, driving 90 all the way to the Verizon Center where he pulled up to the parking lot and discovered the security bar was down and there was no attendant. The ticket machine had an "out of order" sign on it.

Booth cursed and backed the SUV up a few feet to where he could park illegally and might get towed, but still wasn't blocking the entrance. He jumped out of the vehicle and hurried to the stairs. The first two flights he took two at a time, but the closer he got to level 4 the faster his heart beat and the slower his feet went. What if he was wrong and had somehow misread things? He didn't need to freak Brennan out by tearing across the parking lot like he was in pursuit of a suspect.

Emerging onto the top deck, he spotted her at the far end of the deserted lot, standing in their spot. "Bones!" Her name echoed through the parking structure.

She turned toward him and he forced himself into a walk, casually striding across the empty parking spaces like they met up here every day. As he approached her, he could hear the blood rushing through his ears in tandem with the lyrics of the Nickelback valentine and the mental police siren that still hadn't quit shrieking. It was getting pretty noisy inside his head.

_On my knees, I'll ask_

_Last chance for one last dance_

_'Cause with you, I'd withstand_

_All of hell to hold your hand_

_I'd give it all_

_I'd give for us_

_Give anything but I won't give up_

Booth stopped a few feet away, feeling his heart do a slow somersault. Her hair glinted in the dim, moth-assailed security lights, and even all the gray couldn't wipe out the color of Brennan's eyes or her nervous, halfway shy smile. Whatever she was about to say, he would never have any regrets. Everything they'd been through, the price he'd paid to arrive at this moment with her, it was all worth it.

_I love you_

_I have loved you all along_

_And I forgive you_

_For being away for far too long_

She took a step forward, smoothing her hands across her jeans. "Teresa says that weddings take money and fashion sense, but that marriage takes courage and common sense."

_So keep breathing_

_'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore_

"Teresa's a smart woman." His voice didn't sound like his own. "And you've got all four of those things, Bones."

Brennan nodded. "Meaning we could have both."

_Believe it _

_Hold on to me and, never let me go_

He felt his way forward cautiously. "Both …"

"The wedding and the marriage." She held out a green rubber band.

_Keep breathing _

_'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore_

He took it from her and turned it back and forth a couple of times before admitting, "Bones, I don't know what this means."

"The ties that bind us are elastic." She stretched the band demonstratively, before sliding it onto his wrist. "They'll reach across the ocean and will eventually pull us back home again, but in between there's a lot of breathing space."

The sudden silence in Booth's head was deafening. It was like she'd flipped a switch on his internal radio, and now the only station he was receiving was . He fingered the rubber band on his wrist uncertainly. "Bones, is this … are you …"

"No." Her eyes were bright with … something. "You should ask me in the traditional way, Booth. It's important to you."

Maybe it was his brain's way of coping with the impact of what the Queen of the Literal was implying, but Booth's thoughts suddenly turned absurdly to what he was wearing. Jeans and an old Grateful Dead Tee … not even a tie. He felt his jaw and cursed at finding it less than clean-shaven. She deserved so much better.

"We're in a parking lot." He looked around at the litter-strewn parking deck and suddenly realized what an utter jackass he had been for even suggesting this as a place. "Bones, this isn't right."

"A large part of our relationship has been spent in cars," she said so calmly that he had to wonder how their roles had suddenly become so reversed. "Parking lots are a point of arrival and departure. It's a very appropriate place to propose, Booth. If you still plan on asking me."

Feeling like he was crossing over into an alternate universe, Booth got down on one knee. His hands shook as he reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, opened the lid and held it out to her.

"I love you, Bones. I want to say it better—dress it up, give you a fancy speech, just …. there isn't a better way to say, you're it for me. You've been it since that first day at the university. You always will be." His voice cracked embarrassingly. "I want to be it for you. The guy who's assigned to protect you for a lifetime, even when you think you don't need it, who warms your feet, makes you coffee the way you like it, and brings you organic Thai if that's what you're craving at 3:00 am, whether or not you're pregnant. The return address on your envelopes—the ones you address with your Mom's pen—I want it to read the same as mine. Sixty years or more from now, I want you telling me exactly why my bones are hurting, explaining exactly what stupid thing I did to cause it, and loving me anyway. That's all what I want, but if you'll have me, I swear I will give you everything. Anything. You will never regret jumping out of this plane. Temperance Brennan, will you do me the honor of being my partner in marriage?"

Brennan looked at him so intently that what remained of coherent thought derailed completely. "You've already given me everything."

Was he going to have to beg for a straight answer? He was good at that game, but somehow he had hoped—

Her eyes sparkled like the sapphires that had reminded him of her gaze when he bought the ring. Booth's thoughts flashed back and the years before the experiment paraded by in his mind, case by case, mile by mile.

He saw her on the university stage.

Identifying the first set of remains he ever presented her with.

Waving from the back of a cab.

Cursing him out for having 'no brain'.

Sitting in that airport interrogation room.

Agreeing to help him right his 'cosmic balance sheet.'

Rocking out to Hot Blooded.

At his bedside when he woke from being blown up.

Hanging from a meathook, then holding onto him for dear life.

Bloodied, confused, suspected of murder in Louisiana.

Holding his hand at Arlington cemetery.

Discovering her dual identity and breaking down in the pig farmer's barn.

Cheering him on ringside as Roxie.

Pulling herself from the Grave Digger's car with the help of his hand.

Leaning on his shoulder as they walked back from seeing Sully off into the sunset.  
At the altar during Angela's first attempted wedding

Dressed up as Wonder Woman, screaming at snakes, accidentally shooting him.

Dancing phalanges, when she thought he wasn't watching.

On the stand, testifying against herself to save her father.

Singing on stage, oblivious to the danger from Pam.

Nailing him with that prosthetic leg at his funeral.

Crying over a dog who deserved a better end.

Wearing a clown costume, unflinching as he hurled knives.

Ice skating.

Screaming for him to climb into the helicopter.

Hugging him so tightly that he was sure she'd cracked his ribs.

Marrying him in a dream.

Asking him to father her child.

Meeting Pops.

Breaking his heart on the steps of the Hoover Building.

Dancing with him at her high school reunion.

Taking the stand at the Grave Digger trial.

_I have this sense that everything's changing, Booth._

"Booth." Her voice called him back to the present.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind of the fog of memory. For some reason, he heard Parker's voice in his head, going on about a book report he had to write on Alice in Wonderland.

_Looking-glass: characterized by the complete reversal of everything normal._

Brennan smiled and stepped through the looking glass straight into him. "Yes."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She watched him watching her.

Her mind retained detail to an obsessive degree, but certain recollections were more vivid than others.

Sky diving.

Trusting him to walk her through a field, blindfolded.

Cooped up in a hotel with Poison Ivy, dissecting pop cultural fare.

Dancing in Angela's office.

Chasing each other around a Potomac tributary.

Playing Truth or Dare.

Dodging geese.

Week 3.

Frozen on a DC roadside, held upright by the warmth of his memory.

Watching him walk away and realizing.

Standing, once again, on that university stage.

Walking towards him and the second chance they were both taking.

House cleaning.

Playing paintball.

Zeppelin.

Defending his father from him.

Defending him from himself.

Apple picking.

Watching the Northern Lights.

Week 6.

Avoiding grizzlies and man-eating mudhills.

Wandering through the ancient Inuit dig site.

Musical valentines.

Hot air balloon.

Pie festival.

Lightning.

Climbing into a car trunk.

Waterfalls and dipping skinnies.

Buying a house.

Flour fight.

Snow fight.

Words exchanged in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

Awkward au revoir.

Seeing him standing on the pier, patiently waiting.

Making love in a tropical rainstorm.

Even with all the memories they shared and the ones waiting to be created, if she and Booth did make it sixty or more years as husband and wife, Brennan would never forget how he looked upon hearing her reply. Not the slant of his eyebrows, the furrow of his forehead or the slight parting of his lips as he repeated,

"Yes?"

She had thought that accepting would be difficult, but it turned out that waiting for him to ask had been more nerve-wracking. "Yes. I want to marry you, Booth. I would consider it an honor to be your partner in life. I still have questions about the institution of marriage, but we'll figure those out along the way. There's nobody else I'd rather have to help me find answers." She hesitated, then tried out the words to see how they sounded. "I would like for you to be my husband. I would—I would like to be your wife." It felt right.

The wonder in his eyes melted her. She felt a single tear slide down her face signaling another piece of the iceberg dissolving. He reached up to brush the slight moisture from her cheek and she caught his hand instead, holding onto it tightly.

"So you're not afraid—Bones, you're not afraid that when you look at me in the morning, you'll have regrets?" he stammered.

If Brennan hadn't been smiling already, she would have at the direct reference to the earliest stages of their relationship. She responded in kind, repeating the words she'd said so many years ago in an entirely different context. "That would never happen."

Booth laughed, an astonished, husky sound that perfectly matched the huge smile that spread across his face. Still holding the ring in one hand, he reached up to pull her head down to his. Their necks both protested the awkward angle- him on one knee and her several heads above, having to kind of crane sideways to meet his lips—and both of them laughing in amazement didn't help matters any, but somehow he leaned up and she leaned down and they met in the middle, managing a long, sweet kiss anyway.

"Wow." Booth finally pulled back. _"_Bones, _wow._ You realize you just saidyes!"

"I haven't forgotten." She held out her left hand. "Isn't it traditional for you to put the ring on my finger?"

"I may end up dropping it," he warned, fumbling with the box. "My hands aren't exactly steady right now." Nevertheless, he managed to hold her hand securely while simultaneously removing the ring and sliding it gently into place.

Brennan wiggled her fingers, testing the weight and finding that he'd done an excellent job of sizing the ring. The design was unlike any she had ever seen.

"It's supposed to be a double helix," Booth explained. "You're a scientist and I like the whole intertwined DNA thing. Kind of like the threads of our lives overlapping."

She held her hand up to the light so it caught in the overlapping golden twist which spiraled outward from the center to secure two tension set sapphires. "The on-going genetic material that connects one generation to the next." Brennan smiled at the significance. "It's beautiful, Booth."

"Oh, uh—wait." He dropped her hand and dug into his pocket, producing another small box. "Part B."

Curiously, Brennan lifted the lid and found a simple platinum chain resting on a bed of blue velvet. Booth indicated the high ridges of her ring. "I figured the raised setting would tear your surgical gloves, or the ring might fall off when you're digging around in a pit somewhere. This way you have an option to wear it two ways. And it's simple. I wasn't being cheap—I just figured that way you can wear it with your other necklaces."

His thoughtfulness continued to surprise her as much as his understanding of her needs. "I love you," Brennan said, leaning in to kiss him again. "Now get up. Your spine will start to bother you if you kneel much longer on the concrete."

He got to his feet with her help, wincing slightly. "Somebody should come up with an automatic pillow for guys to kneel on when they propose. Just add water and it unfolds, or something."

Brennan grinned. "Take me home, Booth."

He locked his arms behind her waist. "You wanna just pick your car up in the morning? Where is it, anyway?"

"Angela drove me." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pausing to admire the aspersions of light glancing off her new ring.

"Wait." Booth pulled back from the kiss he'd been about to initiate. "She was in on this?"

"I needed a few hours to myself before asking you to meet me, so I asked her to pick me up at the airport. Forty eight hours of travel takes its toll on appearance." That sounded as shallow as it did vain, she suddenly realized.

He looked annoyed enough that Brennan felt a slight pang of concern. "Bones, I've seen you after longer stretches of travel than that and you looked hot as hell."

"I wasn't certain whether you would be unhappy at my stealing your lightning," she confessed.

"Stealing my thunder, you mean?" he asked, looking confused.

"It was your idea to propose to me here, and I pre-empted you. My understanding is that men tend to enjoy the element of surprise inherent in a proposal, and I removed that from the equation. I needed to consult someone with more romantic expertise about the matter, and Angela said you wouldn't mind."

"There was plenty of surprise," Booth retorted, shaking his head. "Bones, you're marrying me! If that's not some kind of surprise, or miracle, I don't know what is."

"So Angela was correct?" she asked hopefully. "You don't mind the slight deception?"

"At this point, I'm not sure I'll ever mind anything again." He kissed her lightly and grinned. "You're marrying me."

"I am," she confirmed, returning the kiss. "Yes.

"That's my new favorite word." He pulled her into his chest, grinning. "Say it again, Bones."

"I'm otherwise occupied," she replied, trying to draw him into a more extended kiss.

He dodged her advances, playfully brushing his lips over hers instead of giving her what she wanted. "You want to grab some dinner at the diner? I can probably squeeze a couple bites in, even with what Angela fed me."

Brennan rolled her eyes in amusement at the obvious ploy. "Yes."

"Ha!" He kissed her, and, just as she was sinking into it, pulled away again, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Are you gonna steal my fries?"

"Yes."

His kiss was longer and deeper this time, but still far too short before he broke it yet again. "What about dessert?"

"Booth," she warned dangerously.

His charm smile was on in full force. "C'mon, Bones, pie. You know you've missed it … just a bite?"

She wanted to be irritated, but found it impossible in the light of his happiness. "Yes."

"Wooooooo!" He lifted her off her feet and spun her around in a tight circle, sending her into fits of giggles as he lost his balance and almost dropped her, then refused to put her down and staggered around sideways instead. "Hey, Bones … we're getting married."

"Yes."

"_Married!_"

"_Yes!"_

Their laughter caromed through the austere surroundings. It bounced off concrete pillars, reverberated through empty parking spaces, slalomed over guard rails and picked up enough acoustic weight to cascade downward several levels in a resonant torrent, surprising the parking attendant who was getting ready to call somebody to tow Booth's SUV.

The sound carried notes of all their families and friends, everybody who had played a role in getting them to this day in both positive and negative ways: Max, Russ and Christine Brennan, Laura, Jared, yes, even Joseph Booth, Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Caroline, Dr. Goodman, Zack, all the squinterns, Daisy, Sweets, Sully, Tessa, Rebecca, Parker, perhaps even the slightest hint of Catherine and all the other significant others who, in the end were not nearly as significant as the bond that cemented the Booth and Brennan partnership.

And, at the heart of it all, laughing with the childlike glee of someone who had seen the presents waiting under the Christmas tree and knew that the same person who wrapped them was going to be sitting by her side watching her unwrap season after season, the loud, exuberant echo of

Joy.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**And that's how I see it happening: Their Beginning in My Story's End.**

**(There's a link on my profile page to a picture of the ring he gave her.)**


	79. Epilogue

**This epilogue is a fast-forward approximately ten years into their marriage. The soundtrack for the chapter: Lady Antebellum's **_**Hello World. (**_**If you would like a list of all the musical valentines referenced in this story, as some people have requested, please PM me and I will gladly send you a copy.) ****On my profile page are the links to pictures of the two necklaces I combined in my mind for Brennan's final present from Booth. **

**It's a very, very strange feeling to be posting this, knowing it's the actual last chapter for this story. My final A/N, after the story, has some thoughts on that, as well as hints of other stories to come.**

**Here's hoping you enjoy this glimpse into their futures. As always, I'd love to know what you thought. See you in the next story!**

**~Margarita**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Sometimes it felt like life was just one giant snafu after another. First, the unexpected extension of his FBI-mandated conference in New York, which meant he missed Parker's first major varsity game of the season. Next, the half-day delay of his flight in from the FBI-mandated conference in New York, resulting in Brennan being unable to pick him up as originally planned. Then, the 45 minute wait for a cab. And now, trapped in the backseat of a cab, unable to even try his own detour to avoid the bumper-to-bumper DC rush hour traffic.

Booth glared out the window and tapped his foot impatiently in the hopes of actually going more than two miles per hour at some point this evening. His frown faded slightly as a tow-headed little girl in a nearby car pressed her chocolate-smeared face to the window and made a funny face at him. They traded comical grimaces before her embarrassed mother shoed her away, waving apologetically from the driver's seat.

A cop car shrieked by and his bad mood returned quickly. Lately, his job required more and more paper-pushing and less actual footwork. Cullen was deliberately holding him back from fieldwork, watching to see if the unpredictable residual migraines from his relatively recent brain surgery had really receded enough for him to be certified fit again. Booth needed to see some action outside the office ASAP, or he was going to shoot the copier and wind up needing therapy again—and Gordon Gordon was definitively retired at this point.

Booth's phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

_Back in town briefly. Can you & Brennan do dinner on Wed? ~Cam_

He texted her back rapidly.

_I'll check with Bones. Bring your plane tickets, so I can shred them. We're not letting you leave again! -Booth_

He sent the message and sat back, thinking about the last few years and all the changes that had followed his wedding. Sliding that ring on Brennan's finger had almost been like a cosmic domino effect. They got married and in short order: Angela gave birth; Daisy and Sweets eloped and Mr. Nigel Murray won a couple million dollars on Jeopardy. Michelle departed to college and Cam suddenly decided she was due an extended sabbatical of her own and vanished off to Nevada to study ancient forensic techniques in mummification. Her replacement was much less competent and butted heads with Brennan so much that it was a wonder they both weren't brain damaged by now. Booth continued to hold out hope that he could bribe, threaten or otherwise blackmail Cam into returning, even after it became clear that her absence was likely to be permanent.

Shortly after Cam left, Fischer wound up interned for severe depression at almost the exact same time that Zack Addy tried to kill himself, citing a lack of usefulness to society in his goodbye note. His suicide attempt sent the team scrambling to figure out how they'd missed the signals and what could be done to change his mentality. Sweets had pulled multiple strings to get Zack relocated to a facility closer to home so that his family could visit him weekly, and the Jeffersonian team now took it in turns to fly out and see him at least once a month. They were trying to find ways to legally include him more in their investigations, so that he felt needed.

Little over a year into Booth's marriage, his father passed away and six months later Max Keenan waltzed back into town and turned their lives upside down yet again with the news that his pursuers were mysteriously no more. Deciding whether or not to investigate him for murder had led to one of the biggest fights Booth and Brennan had ever had. Then Max vanished again, leaving a gaping crater in their relationship that was still healing.

When life finally seemed to settle into a relatively routine pace, Booth and Brennan started trying for a baby, only to find that Brennan couldn't get pregnant. Predictably, this triggered her relentless scientific side, demanding answers, reasons, solutions. Endless doctor's visits provided no solid conclusions on why she couldn't get pregnant, and two torturous IVF cycles yielded no success. None of this had been easy on Booth, obviously, but it led to a sort of identity crisis in Brennan. Having initially disdained the idea of marriage and children, once she embraced it, not having a viable reason for why she couldn't expand her family left her angry, depressed and bewildered.

Booth hadn't known how to help. Everything he did seemed to make it worse. Thankfully, Brennan had developed enough emotional awareness that she did eventually realize she was blaming him for making her want the children they couldn't have, and Booth in turn realized he was angry at how long she'd stalled on their relationship and wondered whether if they'd tried when they were both a little younger, maybe …

Through it all, the center held, now comprised of Booth and Brennan, but also Angela and Hodgins, who took their place alongside the partners and helped ensure the team remained solid. Watching how the artist and Hodgins drew together as a couple to survive the miscarriage of their second child served as a model for Booth and Brennan as they seesawed their way through those initial turbulent years. When both couples decided to adopt, they supported each other through the long, drawn out process, learning from each other's successes and missteps.

"Hello?"

Booth resurfaced from his trip down memory lane, finding the cab driver giving him an annoyed scowl. By law, the meter stopped running once he reached their destination, and Booth wasn't sure how long the cab had been idling in the driveway.

"Sorry." Booth shoved several bills into the guy's hand and climbed out, feeling the weariness from the last few days begin to dissipate as he spotted the blue bike sprawled across the front lawn, and picked his way around the many toys barring the way to the porch. Nearing the front door, he started to grin as the final lyrics of _Mad About You _floated towards him through the half-open window. Brennan was going through an 80s kick in her musical valentine preferences lately, and his calls home from New York had frequently been punctuated by the background music of ZZ Top, Van Halen, Sting, Bon Jovi—even Tiffany, once, which Booth had no intention of ever letting Brennan live down. But Belinda Carlisle wasn't much better.

Booth stepped inside and loosened his tie automatically as The Cars' _You Might Think _started up next, preceded by an electric guitar and keyboard intro that he hadn't heard in decades and certainly hadn't expected to find playing in his living room. Nor had he anticipated finding his wife bopping around the carpet with their excitable six-year old and Angela's equally hyper tween.

Becoming a mother hadn't been second nature to her. Just as she had wanted reasons for her difficulty conceiving, she had struggled to understand why the infant they'd adopted screamed endlessly even after being fed or changed or burped. It had taken Booth (and Angela) a long time to convince Brennan that she wasn't a bad mother, and that children didn't necessarily have reasons for everything they did. Typically, her learning curve had proved steep and in short order she'd learned to diaper change, sing lullabies, make up bedtime stories of questionable appropriateness, kiss skinned knees, etc.

Watching Brennan shimmy exuberantly while singing the lyrics along with her adorably off-key dance partners, Booth felt a grin spread across his face that matched his wife's. She was wearing work clothes, meaning she'd probably just picked the girls up from school. Her newly layered haircut bounced lightly with each step she took, echoing the metal jingle of her rings as they swung to and fro on their chain around her neck, occasionally intercepting the zipper on the jacket she had yet to shed.

He leaned against the wall comfortably and watched the antics until Brennan whirled around in a particularly wild dance move that looked like a squint version of an Irish jig and spotted him. She grinned and blushed slightly.

"Sorry for the interruption, ma'am," Booth drawled, digging his thumbs into his belt in TV-cop style. "We got a call about a noise disturbance."

"Hi, Mr. Booth. I'm spending the night." Sanaa, named after the Swahili word for 'art', gave him a smile that was the mirror-image of her father's, then flopped back on the couch breathlessly and reached for Caesar, who was always up for some attention.

"Daddy!" Nadia clomped across the rug in the overly large cowboy boots that she'd insisted on buying at a yard sale. She threw herself against his legs in a tangle of pink princess tutu and white miniature lab coat, paired with a set of plastic handcuffs jammed into her waistband and a bright purple bow in her hair. Angela insisted the little girl was a budding fashion plate. Brennan was more inclined to wonder whether she was colorblind.

"Hiya, squirt!" Booth scooped her up and tossed her into the air, thrilling at his daughter's delighted screams.

Brennan turned the music down and came over to the pair. "Hello, Officer." She leaned in for a necessarily fast kiss that hinted at better things to come. "Are you here to arrest me?"

"Noooo!" Nadia shrieked, twining herself like an octopus around her father's neck and gazing up at him with the same huge green eyes that had wrapped Booth around her tiny fingers the day she was first placed in his arms at three months old. She cozied close, pressing her face into his neck. Booth held her tightly, aware, as always, that here was another person he would willingly kill for. Die for. But it was so much more that he be doubly careful on the job and live a long, long time so he could give her everything she ever wanted and defend her from the outside world, just like he did with her mother.

"Daddy." Nadia poked at his chest to get his attention, then, when he didn't respond quickly enough, she snapped the rubber band he always wore on his wrist as an adjunct to his wedding ring. "You're not gonna arrest Mommy. Right?"

He kissed her head, spun her out in a circle that made her scream ecstatically, and swung her up onto his shoulders, then winked at Brennan as he piggy-backed his squealing daughter around the room. "I don't know, kiddo. Depends on whether your mommy is in the mood to be arrested tonight."

"It's possible that I might be persuaded." She gave him a look which the kids missed completely, but that made Booth's libido go **zing.**

"Nobody _wants_ to get arrested," Sanaa said. "But it'd be pretty cool, I guess, to tell your friends. My parents got married in a jail."

"A jail?" Nadia echoed in amazement, squirming down to join her best friend on the couch. The girls were as devoted to each other as their mothers, in spite of the age difference. "What did they do?"

Sanaa sighed dramatically. "They fell in love."

"Dad, that car is so sick." Parker interrupted the conversation by appearing in the doorway, greasy towel in one hand, a wrench in the other. "She must've been a beauty before Bones killed her."

Brennan rolled her eyes at the familiar teasing and joined the girls on the couch. Veronica had become something of a joint project, the long hours spent laboring over her corpse helping the three of them to become a family when they were unexpectedly thrust together as an impromptu trio.

"Hey, son." Booth reached out to thump the teenager on the arm, but he shied away with an annoyed scowl. Sixteen was apparently a harder year than Booth remembered, even when he'd never been as good looking as his 6'1 son, who was already built like a linebacker. Pair those muscles with his sense of humor and intelligence, and Parker was considered a prime catch by all his female classmates and then some.

"You took her out last time." The teenager frowned. "When are you gonna let me take her for a ride?"

Booth considered for a moment. It had taken years to rebuild the car, starting with the engine. Pieces of the antique vehicle hadn't been easy to come by, and their work on her had been sporadic at best. It went in spurts—initially they worked on her every single weekend, then every month, then every other month, then half a year went by with virtually nothing, and then they once again returned to a semi-regular routine. Parker had really taken the lead on restoring the vehicle the last year or so, squeezing in time to work on Veronica in between taking AP exams and college credit courses, playing multiple sports, all while playing the field in a way that his father didn't necessarily approve of.

"Tell you what," Booth said thoughtfully. "I owe you for not making that game. You wanna take Veronica out for a spin a little later?"

Parker's eyes popped. _"For real?"_

Sanaa butted in. "The pictures on the fireplace say Sept. 17th. Today is April 10th."

Booth glanced at the photographs taken by Angela, one of him and Brennan exchanging vows against the backdrop of Havasupai falls, another of their first kiss as Mr. and Mrs., and a third of him carrying a hysterically laughing Brennan straight into the water, wedding dress, tux and all.

"Bones and I … we kind of had two weddings," he explained, trading a meaningful look with Brennan.

"Dad," Parker insisted, before Sanaa could ask more questions. "Seriously?"

"I'll make you a deal. It's Bones and my anniversary. We could use a little time. You take the girls out to dinner in my car, and later on I'll let you drive Veronica for a couple hours."

Parker grabbed both girls by the hands and dragged them towards the door, apparently afraid his father would change his mind. Neither girl minded in the slightest, one being totally enamored of any time spent with her grouchy older brother, the other simply enamored.

Booth trailed the kids outside, making sure Nadia was well-buckled into the car seat and that Parker didn't take out the mailbox as he backed out of the garage. "Don't forget to release the emergency brake. And don't speed. Or get on the highway. Or take her past the gas station. Make sure you adjust your mirrors. Do you have enough gas?" He watched the car disappear around the corner, belatedly calling, "Be back in two hours."

"I'm impressed."

He turned and found Brennan standing on the porch.

"I would never have expected that from you, Booth."

"He's a good kid," Booth muttered, trying not to worry about his 16 year old driving alongside the same morons he'd been stuck in traffic with earlier. "That car is almost as much his as it is ours."

Brennan smiled and crooked a finger in invitation. "I believe you were planning on arresting me." She began to unbutton her blouse slowly, revealing a red bra that he knew she'd worn deliberately to welcome him home.

Booth hurried her back into the house and slammed the door shut with one foot as he pushed her up against the wall and finished unbuttoning the garment. "The things I do to spend time with my wife." She entwined herself around him, letting the sides of her blouse fall open as she framed his face with her hands and kissed him deeply. He returned the kiss with equal fervor and reached back to unsnap her bra. "Did I mention I missed you?"

"Possibly." She shrugged the bra from her shoulders, never breaking the kiss.

"Ahhhhh …." Booth groaned in pleasure at the feel of her soft, naked curves pressing into him. "I'm over-dressed here, Bones."

She worked her way down the buttons on his shirt quickly, shoving back the fabric and going to town on his bare chest with her tongue and teeth, then beginning the same efficient disrobing process with his belt and pants.

"Oh, baby. I … uh … wooOOOW. Bones," he insisted finally, tangling his fingers in her hair and tugging her gently back up to him. He chuckled at the impatient look on her face and held up the small plastic bag he'd somehow managed to extract from his pocket. She shoved the hair back from her face, and shook the contents of the bag into her hand. It was a clove necklace strung on a dark brown silk ribbon, anchored in the center by a large orange magnesite stone.

"Oranges and cloves," she said with a smile. "You never forget, Booth."

He reached up to touch the two rings on her necklace, then nudged them aside and leaned in to kiss the warm skin beneath the cool metal. "Happy anniversary, Mrs. Brennan."

"I have a present for you too."

"Yeah?" Booth continued to kiss his way over her collarbone.

She took both his hands in hers. Eyes locked on his, she guided them to her bare abdomen and rested them there, low on her midriff. "Happy anniversary."

It took him about three seconds to catch up to speed. When he did, Booth's eyes went as wide as Parker's had earlier. "Bones—are you saying you're—we're—you're—"

"Yes." Her eyes went shiny with tears. "I don't know the reason why it finally happened. The doctor confirmed it yesterday."

"Whoa, _Bones_." Booth gently stroked her stomach in amazement. "Baby."

She smiled and pressed her hands over his. "For once, that is an appropriate use of the noun."

"Holy—wow_." _At a loss for words, he pulled her in with one hand for a long kiss, keeping the other protectively over her belly. "_**Ha!**__ We're having a baby, baby! _A little brother or sister for Nadia and Parker!"

They danced around the living room exultantly, giddy as the kids had been earlier, then raced each other up the stairs.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Mommy?"

Brennan looked up from her computer and found her daughter hovering in the door to her office, clad in pink Miss Piggy pajamas, her curly black hair mussed with sleep and the lines of the pillow still imprinted on her face.

"I had a bad dream," the little girl mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the hand that wasn't clutching a stuffed dolphin. "And there's a monster under my bed that wants to eat my toes."

Once, Brennan would have responded with some kind of commentary about monsters not existing. But by this point she knew very well that they did exist, and that they came in many guises. Even if not Grave Diggers or Gormogons, Toe Monsters were probably every bit as frightening to a small child, regardless of where she'd picked up the idea.

"I know the solution for that." Brennan pushed back from her desk and scooped her daughter up, settling her comfortably on her hip as they walked back towards her bedroom. She paused at a closet to pick up a large flashlight, which she entrusted to Nadia's care. "Flashlights and clean socks," she said in a secretive tone.

"Clean socks?" Nadia yawned.

They arrived at the door to her bedroom and Brennan set her daughter down, keeping a secure hold on her free hand.

"Turn the light on," she instructed. "And stay close to me."

Nadia did as instructed, her eyes wide in the glow of the flashlight. She burrowed into Brennan's leg as the scientist began to explore the room methodically, starting with the closet. They worked their way through each drawer, behind the dresser, between the window blinds, underneath the lampshade, above the bookcase and behind the books, and in the toy chest, by which point Nadia was feeling confident enough to loudly inquire, "ANY MONSTERS IN HERE?" on her own, before firmly proclaiming to her mother, "They must've run away." Her confidence wavered a little as she glanced at the dust ruffle hovering ominously beneath her bed. "But what about the Toe Monster?"

Brennan rummaged through one of the drawers they had just checked and extracted a pair of socks decorated with kittens.

"Put these on," she directed, standing guard beside the bed to make sure no monsters crept out while her daughter was obeying.

When she had finished, Brennan knelt beside the little girl and put her finger to her lips. She leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "Toe Monsters only like dirty socks. If this one gets a taste of anything clean, it'll run away."

"Really?" Nadia whispered back.

"Really," Brennan promised, kicking off her own shoes. "My socks are clean. Let me show you." She stuck her foot out close to the bed and waited. When nothing happened, she inched it closer, feeling her daughter's gaze on her. Still nothing. Finally, she boldly stuck her foot straight under the bed, at which point she felt Nadia stop breathing altogether.

"See?" Brennan retrieved her unscathed food and wiggled her five toes as proof. "It ran away."

"I'm still scared," Nadia confessed, clinging to her side. "What if he comes back? Stay with me, Mommy."

"Okay," Brennan agreed. "And tomorrow we'll come up with a sock trap, to keep the monster away permanently. Daddy can help us build it."

They climbed into bed together, with Brennan hovering on the outside edge while Nadia took up most of the space in the small twin. She rested her head on her mother's chest and sighed deeply. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you gonna love the new baby more than me? Because it's not 'dopted?"

Even with all she had learned about chasing away Toe Monsters, Brennan still sometimes found herself at a loss when dealing with her sensitive little girl's very sincere questions. She reached for an explanation that Angela had given her own adopted son, Nicholas.

"Of course not, sweetheart. You know how we explained that babies grow in Mommy's womb, right?" she said softly, stroking Nadia's back.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, adopted babies grow in their Mommy's metaphorical heart. That's the only difference. Your daddy and I will love you every bit as much as the new baby. Where you came from doesn't change a thing."

"What's a forical heart?" Nadia mumbled.

Brennan smiled. "The one your head is resting above."

Nadia squeezed Brennan's waist with her strong little arms. "I love your heart, Mommy."

They drifted off to sleep, holding each other tightly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_She didn't have time to collect herself. One moment she was standing in the door of the plane, trying to steel herself to jump out. The next, she was being pushed out the door, before she'd finished settling the parachute on her back. _

_The cold wind blasted her in the face, ripping the scream from her throat. Brennan tumbled end over end, unable to close her eyes even when she knew that earth would be rushing up to meet her momentarily. She didn't want to die blind. Terror clawed at her chest like a hand from a horror movie, reaching deep inside to cut free her living heart. She steeled herself for the pain._

_Then, abruptly, the parachute opened above her with a jolt. It shouldn't have—there was no rational explanation for why the chute opened when it wasn't primed, or even pulled—but it did, and Brennan found herself jerked upwards, then floating downwards again in a gentle sideways sway as the evening breeze buffeted the parachute silk._

_She landed with a gentle thud in a damp meadow and stood, stunned, in the middle of a herd of cows who, judging from their lack of interest, seemed to have witnessed the occasional aerial landing before._

Brennan opened her eyes and realized after a moment's confusion that she had fallen out of Nadia's bed. The floor was damp from the cup of water that had been knocked off the nightstand, and a stuffed cow on the floor was lowing softly, its electronic microchip triggered by Brennan's body weight. She shoved the toy aside and got to her feet, rubbing her shin where she had banged it.

"You okay?"

She swiveled around and found Booth in the doorway, bare-chested and rubbing his face sleepily, not unlike his daughter had done several hours earlier.

"I heard the thump," he explained, coming into the room and draping his arm around Brennan. She leaned into him and they stood watching Nadia snore peacefully, sounding like a combination of both her mother and father.

Brennan glanced up at Booth's face. There were a few new scars and wrinkles, along with a few strands of gray, but he remained the same handsome man who had charmed his way into her heart in spite of all the obstacles thrown in their way. There were definitely moments when she wanted to run away to where her only responsibilities were to silent remains, which she still understood better than live people, even ones she loved. But she never did, because peace, quiet and scientific credentials meant very little when juxtaposed with the sound of his keys in the door, or stepping off a plane, knowing he'd be waiting in the arrivals lounge.

In similar fashion, watching Booth chase their child around the playground left Brennan with a feeling of deep contentment, especially when he grabbed her and insisted she join in. Sometimes she would be held up at work or at a book event and come home late to discover that he'd made dinner, put Nadia to bed, and waited up in order to eat with her. Or she'd be helping Parker with a homework assignment and hear a loud snore, because Booth had fallen asleep watching a hockey game. The minutiae of daily domestic life were often boring and over-taxing, but the awareness that another person was sharing in the experience somehow mitigated the ennui. It all added up to a great deal of growth together as partners, spouses, parents and human beings, with Brennan accumulating increasing evidence that evolution wasn't confined to bones.

Booth lightly rested one large hand on her stomach and kissed her. "Come back to bed, Bones. You should sleep while you still can. Before you know it, we'll be getting up for feedings every hour of the night again."

"I'm looking forward to it," she replied, lacing her fingers through his and leading him towards their bedroom. "However, I have no desire to sleep at the moment."

They made love slowly, taking advantage of Nadia's temporarily sound sleep. With her instincts now finely attuned to small cries, Brennan slept lightly afterwards. She woke at some point, thinking she'd heard something, but it was only the sounds of Booth. She smiled in the darkness and curled closer to her, enjoying the awareness that the man beside her snoring like a chainsaw was her husband. And she was his wife. If there was any kind of ownership to be had in their relationship, it was mutual. They belonged to each other, a concept which she'd somehow overlooked completely when it came to the whole idea of marriage.

Brennan breathed in Booth and breathed out past loneliness, even if marriage certainly had its share of lonely moments. She closed her eyes and tumbled into dreams of exploring the aerodynamic properties of leaves with Nadia. Eventually she fell backwards into the tall heap and the leaves closed over her, almost covering her face, but before she could become afraid of suffocating, a large hand reached into the leaves and grasped her arm firmly, accompanied by a much smaller hand, with an equally determined grip. She smiled in her sleep, mirroring the expressions on the beloved faces of her husband and daughter as they hauled her upright into the sunshine, laughing.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Final A/N: This story began in late May, approximately 10 days before school let out for the summer. Any teacher will tell you that's one of the worst times of the year to attempt extracurricular activities, but the story grabbed hold and ****would not let go****, so I basically didn't sleep those last ten days, what with attempting to teach one last little bit, administering finals, grading, and writing into the wee hours of the morning. As the summer progressed, and so did the story, I was fortunate enough to meet Eternal Destiny 304. Her endless patience, good humor and keen editorial sense helped mold these 78 chapters—and kept me afloat through many a turbulent day. Both she and Amilyn, whom I also owe a debt of gratitude for editing, advising, and counseling on all manners real-life and Bones-related, have become good friends, albeit ones I've never met face to face. ****Thank you, ladies. Multumesc mult. Del corazon: Mil y un gracias. **

**Perhaps unavoidably, the plot arc of **_**Problem Solving**_** frequently coincided with my life. In times of angst, that probably bled through, just as, in times of happiness, the prose may have tended a little toward the silly side. (The carnival chapter comes to mind.) I regret neither extreme, even if some were better written than others: They're all a part of me, and now they're a part of these pages. The destinations in the story are part of my dreams, both the places I'm saving money to return to, and the ones I hope to one day visit for the first time. The songs are ones I've danced to, or ones I dream of dancing to with someone. Booth is my fantasy, from his good looks to his sense of humor, compassion, loyalty and faith. Brennan's insecurities are the mirror image I sometimes see when brushing my teeth.**

**The story was a part of my life so long that it became a comfort to come home to—an old friend, if you will. In the same manner, feedback from reviewers kept me going on more than one occasion, when I thought I couldn't grade another paper, come up with another lesson plan, field another parent-teacher meeting or find the creative space necessary to write another chapter. If you've ever taken the time to leave me a note, my words in response are as inadequate as Booth's to Brennan in 78, but they're from the heart: Thank you. Please know that you're part of this story as much as I am. **

**There's a group of you who have been with me from the very first page. You've IMd me, PMd me, emailed me, made suggestions, pinch-hit when my regular betas weren't available, advised me on sundry matters, etc. I don't dare list your names here, for fear of accidentally leaving somebody out and hurting feelings, but you know who you are. The journey of **_**Problem Solving **_**has been mine, yours, theirs, and very much ****ours****. Thanks for keeping me company along the way.**

**For those of you who have asked, yes, I definitely intend to keep writing. For a while, I will post regular Thursday one-shots (most less than 5000 words), at least until my small backlog of already written stories is used up. At that point, I'll re-evaluate how much time I have to write this semester and let you know my posting schedule accordingly**.

**Happy New Year! And thank you, again, to all those readers, reviewers and betas who were an important part of my life in 2010.**

**~Margarita**


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